Somewhere Special in Time
by Elmrada
Summary: Sequel to Lacy and Stained. Ten years later, Jack and Rose's children face coming-of-age milestones that begin to determine who they will be as people. With some new bad kids in town, Charlie and Valentina start to head different directions in life and their parents must figure out what to do to keep the family together as a whole.
1. Hot and Cold

_Author's Notes: I think I've rewritten this story over three times now. I've been trying to get it right for so long. I have always wanted to revisit the family of Jack and Rose I created over 5 years ago._  
_This is the sequel of Lacy and Stained._

Somewhere Special in Time

_May 29th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The windows of the classroom had been pushed open to allow the warm draft of summer to waft in. Fresh mountain air breezed through the room, rustling papers secured under weights and making some pencils roll across the vacant tables where the students had been only days before taking their final exams to mark the end of the school year. Only a few skys drifted through the wide open blue sky and in the distance, the purple mountains stood majestically, proudly encasing Miles City in their protection.

Thirty-one year old Jack Dawson lowered himself into a stiff school chair before his son's teacher's desk, Mrs. Lipton. The roots of Jack's once spectacular blond hair had grown more ashen over the years, but still, his hair boyishly fell in layers over his head, resembling his care-free nature that never left him despite the decade that had passed. He adjusted the rolled sleeves on his elbows and made sure his suspenders were sitting straight on his shoulders as he leaned his cane against her desk, ready to hear about Charlie Jack Dawson's yearly report. Jack rubbed at his knee sorely, wishing he had brought some of his pain medication with him. It had been nearly four years since the Great War, but Jack's knee injury due to shrapnel would plague him for the rest of his life.

Mrs. Lipton was busy shuffling papers about, shifting through student after student. Jack and Rose had had high hopes for the new young teacher being apart of Charlie's academic growth. She had come from New York City with high regards and the parents were certain it would be just what Charlie needed to finally find his passion in school. Mrs. Lipton smiled politely at Jack as she finally came across nine year old Charlie's report.

"So," Jack finally said, letting out a short huff as he straightened his back in his chair, "how'd my boy do, Mrs. Lipton?"

"Well, I will preface with saying, Mr. Dawson, that I did thoroughly enjoy having Charlie in class this year," Mrs. Lipton grinned, folding her hands atop her meticulously filed papers, "He is quite the king of outdoors. It was always fun to see what kind of bugs he could find during recess. However, I wish I could have gotten Charlie more excited about being in the classroom, rather than outside of it," Mrs. Lipton handed a paper across the desk to Jack, "These are his final marks."

Jack scanned down the report card:

_ English: C_

_ History: C+_

_ Math: D_

_ Science: B-_

Jack heaved a sigh, suffering a wave of déjá vu from Charlie's teacher last year, Mr. Kendrick. Charlie's marks hadn't much improved from last year, either Jack was pleased to see at least one B on the report card. He looked over the top of the paper at Mrs. Lipton, "Was he a discplinary problem?"

"No, nothing like that," Mrs. Lipton waved her hand dismissively, "He's a good boy, Mr. Dawson. His attitude is not uncommon for a squirmy nine year old. I was hoping at least one section of lessons would appeal to him, but he often doodled through lectures, and actually," Mrs. Lipton reached for a folder filed behind her desk, "His final math test is what brought his grade down so low. He left an entire page unanswered but did this on the back."

Mrs. Lipton withdrew the stapled test, holding it out towards Jack. Jack analyzed Charlie's sloppy chicken scratch handwriting, noting his poor display of work that was supposed to be shown for full credit. Jack slowly thumbed through the test, Mrs. Lipton's red X's glaring at him. When he made it to the final page, he could see Charlie attempting to work out the first problem, but it ended there and all the other questions were left unanswered. Jack flipped the page over to see quite a magnificent sketch of the empty school yard with the mountains in the distance. Jack could tell Charlie had drawn it by eye out the window, doing anything to distract himself from his real work. Charlie had shown great interest and promise in landscapes, but Jack was too displeased with Charlie's performance in school to appreciate his well-done sketch.

"It's hard to keep his attention," Mrs. Lipton continued, glancing towards her notes, "He likes to chat, he likes to cook up ways to get other student's off-task. He likes a good laugh, a good prank; he thoroughly enjoys interacting with his classmates. I can tell he is a social creature and I feel that is the most disruptive to his attention overall and why, I think, he did so poorly this year."

"Will he able to advance to the next grade?" Jack asked, returning the test to her.

"Oh, certainly," Mrs. Lipton nodded as she returned the test folder to it's rightful place, "Charlie is bright, I know he is. He likes to take things apart and try to put them back together. I think he has a lovely spirit. I don't see any reason why he shouldn't advance, though, keep in mind, teacher's of higher grade levels may not be forgiving as me."

"I see... thank you for the report, Mrs. Lipton," Jack nodded, "I appreciate everything you've told me."

"I think Charlie could really benefit from an arts or engineering summer course," Mrs. Lipton said, "The local museum offers an engineering program for children his age and the local parks put on art camps during the day. Might be worth looking into."

"I'll mention something to my wife," Jack replied as he stood and collected his cane, leaning against it to off-set the searing pain he felt in his knee, "Thanks again, Mrs. Lipton. I hope you have a nice summer."

"The pleasure was all mine," Mrs. Lipton also stood, reaching across the desk to shake Jack's hand, "Best of luck to Charlie. I'm rooting for him."

...

Just down the hallway, Rose was meeting with eleven year old Valentina's teacher, Mr. Herz. He was an older gentlemen who hailed from southern California where he used to teach as a professor on the college level in theology. Wanting a more relaxed life to settle into, he had moved to Miles City years ago and taught on the elementary level, finding he loved it more than his original position. He was a progressive man, polite, and always wore gold bifocals on the perch on his thick nose. Rose shook his hair gingerly and seated herself. At twenty-nine years old, the years had been good to Rose Dawson. With the hectic life of her literary career and raising two children, Rose had opted to keep her curly hair short, just allowing it to rest on her shoulders.

"Mrs. Dawson," Mr. Herz grinned behind his bushy moustache, "this is the parent meeting I've been looking forward to all week! I have been waiting for the longest time to express how much I have thoroughly enjoyed having Valentina in my class this year."

Rose beamed with pride, bucking up straight in her chair. She crossed her feet at her ankles, setting her hands into her laps. Nothing pleased Rose more than to hear people brag on the behalf of her children, especially her Valentina. She was an absolutely over-achiever and Rose loved everything that Valentina put herself into. Mr. Herz shifted through his papers, which were not nearly as organized as his colleague, Mrs. Lipton. When he found what he was looking for, his grin grew wider, and he passed the paper across the desk to Rose. When Rose took it into her hands, she realized it was Valentina's report card. Mr. Herz had drawn a giant smiley face up in the right hand corner.

_English: A+_

_ History: A++_

_ Math: A-_

_ Science: A_

Rose grinned when she saw the marks, _that's my girl. _She looked back to Mr. Herz as he reshuffled his papers and prepared himself for his verbal report to Rose. Rose couldn't help but get lost in thought with all the possibilites that awaited Valentina as she climbed and excelled in her academics. Everything her daughter did, she put her heart completely into it, whether it was her least favorite subject or practicing her trumpet for her jazz quartet.

"Now, Mrs. Dawson, since we're in private, I feel I can say this," Mr. Herz folded his hands together, "I can easily say that Valentina has been one of my most favorite students. I'd say she is brighter than any thesis student I've met before. I have exquistely enjoyed having Valentina in my class this year. I'm sad that she's moving on to another teacher come August. I wish I could teach students like Valentina all the time," Rose's heart swelled with each word coming out from beneath Mr. Herz bushy moustache, "She is highly engaged at all times. Valentina comes prepapred every day, was never late in turning assignments in, and all her observations and participation in class more than exceeded my expectations. That girl has a future in anything she wants to do."

"Wow, Mr. Herz, I am just so happy to hear that," Rose grinned, lowering the report card to her lap, "I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. You've described her just as she is at home. We never worry about her. I was concerned the new jazz quartet she joined would interfere with her studies, but I am so pleased to hear she was attentive for you."

"She was more than attentive," Mr. Herz nodded, "And I must say, her long hand is just spectacular. Look at this essay she wrote me about the American Revolution."

He passed a paper clipped two page essay to Rose and she was quite surprised to see Valentina had progressed into writing dainty and loopy cursive. It was almost as good as Rose's despite two decades of practice. Rose grinned as she glanced over Valentina's well thought out and cohesive statements, admiring her tall T's and her graceful L's. Rose was proud to know the caligraphy books Valentina had requested last Christmas were being put to good use.

"Whatever parenting style you're using, don't stop," Mr. Herz told her, quite pleased himself as Rose returned the essay to him, "I am aware that Valentina has a younger brother. I look forward to opportunity to teach him in the coming years."

Rose's grin fell slightly crooked at the comment. Charlie was as bright as his sister, but his ability to apply himself was severely lacking. Getting Charlie to do his homework in a timely manner was nearly as hard as pulling teeth. He zoomed through his work in an attempt to return to the great outdoors, his model train, and tin car collection faster. Getting him to re-do the work to be acceptable was nearly impossible. Rose would have more luck taming a lion than getting Charlie to fully immerse himself in his studies. Books had his nose upturned, literary clubs had him snoozing, and any extra time he had to spend confined to the classroom walls were pure torture. Still, deep inside, Rose clung to the hope that her husband was having as pleasant of a teacher meeting that she was having.

"Yes, Charlie," Rose finally said, nodding her head, "He's two grades behind Valentina."

"I know I'll be thrilled if I see another Dawson on my roster, that's a guarantee."

"It's been an immense pleasure having you teach my daughter this year," Rose reached across the table and gently touched his wrist, "I appreciate you nuturing her. I really do."

"I have great visions for that girl," Mr. Herz replied, gently patting Rose's hand, "And trust me, I don't think anything could stop her."

...

Rose met Jack at the front foyer of the school. He was sitting on a bench with his bad leg extended. Just above his head, there was a drooped banner that read HAVE A GREAT SUMMER written across it. Rose slowly entered the quiet foyer where only a few other parents lingered. When Jack spotted Rose, he hopped to his feet and they left the school, slowly meandering onto the street. Together, they rustled their report cards out and held them side by side to compare.

"Well... the only improvement I've noticed is an interest in science," Rose said, shaking her head.

"I guess that Anicent Rome club Valentina joined at the library is really helping her in history," Jack remarked. They both lowered their report cards, "What did Mr. Herz have to say."

"Good things, as usual," Rose said as she bumped shoulders against Jack while they walked slowly, "Highly motivated, never misses a deadline, exceeds all expectations. Any news on Charlie's front?"

"Well," Jack let out a sigh as they stepped up on a curb, "Mrs. Lipton really liked him. Called him the King of Outdoors, so that's something. But otherwise, nope. Another year of slacking and being distracted. His mind seems to be up in the mountains."

"We need to find out what really interests him, Jack," Rose told him adamantly, "Maybe this B in science could be leading to something."

"Mrs. Lipton actually offered an engineering club for kids at the library or a summer art camp," Jack shrugged, "I say art camp, but we should talk to Charlie. If we can get something to hold his attention for an entire summer, it will be a miracle."

"I haven't seen Charlie drawing at home in weeks," Rose said, "Have you checked in on that?"

"I had no idea," Jack arched his eyebrows, "His teacher showed me his papers chock full of wonderful still-life doodles."

"Seems to me like drawing is just something he does when he's really bored in school," Rose shrugged, "Maybe he doesn't want to do art. Maybe engineering is the right way."

"Let's just talk to Charlie first," Jack looked to her, "He's got a talent for art, Rose. I don't want him to ignore that."

"Maybe Valentina could help him," Rose suggested.

"Well, that's just setting us up to be playing firefighter all night, don't you think?"

The couple continued on towards the last street corner that would steer them in the direction of their neighborhood. Rose laced her fingers towards Jack and grinned, helping him descend the small stoop in the curb. Jack smiled sheepishly as their neighborhood came into view.

...

The Dawson home was quiet. All the curtains were drawn back, some windows left open. The house was bathed in natural light, which was Rose's preference. The countertops were surprisingly clean. Charlie hadn't left any peanut butter smudges behind. Only a few neglected dishes laid piled in the base of the porcelain sink. After a few moments, a trumpet filled the house, echoing down the hallways and sneaking out the windows. Just upstairs, the bedroom on the left across the hall from Charlie's was Valentina's room. Several vintage jazz posters were pinned to the walls, along with newspaper clippings of her own performances in the Miles City jazz scene. Her bed was made, her writing desk beneath the picture window overlooking the backyard was relatively organized. In the center of the room, on her circular rug made of bright pinks and blues, Valentina stood with her trumpet perched upwards and her music stand wobbling in front of her.

At eleven years old, Valentina was nearly an inch taller than her classmates. She was slender with long arms. She wore her dark hair in french braids running down her back. Today she had chosen a green and white plaid short-sleeved dress with a matching green silk waistband. She was wearing white stockings with black buckle-over shoes. Fixed in her braids were matching green bows. Valentina watched her sheet of music intently, being sure no notes were left unplayed. Her audition for the Miles City Junior Orchestra was approaching rapidly. For the last two years, she had been apart of the orchestra, placing in chair six out of eight. This year, Valentina was absolutely determined to be in the top four chairs. The moment the sheet of music requested for audition appeared in the mail, Valentina practiced in majority of her free time. She was nearly sick of the piece but still, she persisted in being sure she knew it better than anything in her life.

Her brother appeared in the doorway, leaning against the threshold and dangling his arm back and forth. Charlie watched Valentina play for a moment before he wandered into her room. He strolled over to her bookcase and pulled down a small origami swan a friend had given her. Immediately, Valentina's trumpet notes faltered and she lowered her instrument.

"Please put that back, it's fragile," Valentina said.

Charlie did as he was told and turned to his sister, jamming his hands into his pockets. His hair was uncombed and fell all over his forehead. It wouldn't be long before his mother would be chasing him down with a pair of scissors or his dad convincing him to go out for "ice cream".

"Did you want something?" Valentina asked.

"No... I'm just bored," Charlie huffed, "I haven't seen any of my friends on the normal bike paths. Maybe we could go do something?"

"Sorry, I gotta practice," Valentina told him, gesturing towards her music stand, "I'm sure Ross is down at the fishing hole. It's the afternoon, isn't it? It's probably nice and cool."

"He hasn't been there since school let out," Charlie shrugged uselessly.

"Well, we have nearly an entire library down the hall," Valentina suggested, "Mom has picture books, too. Some are really nicely done in watercolor."

"That sounds boring," Charlie deadpanned, flashing his green eyes at her.

"Why don't you draw? Daddy just got that new box of colored pencils."

"No... I don't wanna do that either," Charlie heaved a sigh and walked a few paces, "I don't find much enjoyment in just drawing. I'd rather be out doing something else."

"Well, if you hop on your bike you're bound to run into someone."

"Alright, then," Charlie shrugged and walked towards the door, "See you later."

...

Jack and Rose returned not long after that with full intent to have a sit-down with Charlie. When they walked up the cobblestone path on their front lawn, Jack cursed, rousing Rose's attention over her shoulder at him.

"His bike is gone," Jack said, shaking his head, "We'll have to wait to talk to him."

"Okay, we can't just let this go," Rose nodded, turning towards Jack, "We have to talk to him after dinner tonight. No work arounds, no wiggling out of it, no forgetting. This is important Jack."

"Oh, I know," Jack agreed, "Rose, this is all too much like me when I was a kid. I liked to push the boundaries. I liked to drive my parents crazy. They didn't deserve it, but I was a kid. But it comes to a dangerous point, a slippery slope, where his actions will start affecting other people. I want to put this fire out once and for all."

"Alright," Rose replied, "We're in agreeance. After dinner."

"After dinner."


	2. A Divide in the River

Chapter Two

_May 29th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Dinner was served rather late that evening at the Dawson's, a normal habit that sprung up during the children's summer vacation. Rose had baked a small chicken, covered in cloves of garlic, rosemary, and surrounded in a bed of cooked green beans. She watched in dismay as Charlie picked around the greens. Valentina talked about the Miles City Junior Orchestra for much of dinner and her parent's watched lovingly as her eyes lit up about her speculation surrounding the pieces they would perform come August. Rose agreed to watch a practice of Valentina's audition after dinner. As dinner wound down the family thanked Rose for preparing it.

"Hey, Charlie!" Jack called as his chair screeched over the tile floor. Charlie was just about out the door of the kitchen and skirted to a stop upon hearing his name, "Why don't you and I do the dishes tonight? Let your mom and Tina go work on her audition, hm?"

He could see Charlie practically droop at the request. Jack knew he was eager to get back to his trains. He had been gifted an immense stock pile of things for his train collection for his last birthday and was in the middle of a massive scene creation in the center of his room. Getting to his bed during tuck-in time was like performing in the Olympics. Charlie complied, coming back into the kitchen. Rose flashed Jack a look for good luck and left with Valentina, her arm around her shoulder as her daughter continued raving about the upcoming performance.

"I'll get the water warming up and the rags soapy. You get the dishes," Jack instructed. He watched as his small wiry son rounded the table, collecting many dishes in his arms. Precariously, he balanced as much as he could and delivered it to the counter for Jack, "Scrape any food into the trash, too," Jack told him while giving a rag a squeeze. Once Charlie had completed that task, Jack pulled the step stool out from beneath the wash basin and Charlie came to stand beside him at his shoulders. Jack handed him a rag, "Alright, let's get started."

The Dawson man began clearing the dinner plates through the deep washin basin filled with soapy water. The only thing to be heard was the clattering of dishes and scrapes of silverware. Jack lowered his eyes to his son, watching as he wrapped his soapy rag around a fork. Jack pursed his lips for a moment and took a deep breath.

"You probably know why you're doing the dishes tonight, huh?" Jack said, looking out the window at the full moon breaking over the mountain tops.

"I rode my bike past the school," Charlie lifted his eyes to his father, "I saw the sign about the parent-teacher meetings."

Jack dunked a tea cup into the foamy water, "Your grades weren't so great, bud."

"I don't see why some letters on a piece of paper are a big deal," Charlie shrugged, "None of it seems very useful."

"But it _is_ useful, Charlie," Jack told him, setting a spoon in the dish rack, "You should try to be soaking up as much information as you can. It helps you understand the world. It gives you your basic navigation. You need to know maps and topography, you need to know complex language and the basic elements."

"The only cool thing we got to do all year was one time, during a science lesson, we used a potato to make a light bulb glow," Charlie grinned, looking at his reflection in the dark window, "I hope that comes in handy one day."

"So, do you like science?" Jack asked.

Charlie shrugged, "I dunno. It's cool when things fizz and burn and blow up, I guess. We never did any of that at school, though," Charlie's face lit up, "I saw it in a Nickelodean one time. An entire barn just went up in smoke!"

"Well... it's a start," Jack said slowly, images of burning forests crossing his mind, "You know, there's an engineering club at the library doing a day-pogram this summer. Why don't you go and try it out? You might convince some of the other kids to do a controlled explosion."

Charlie scrunched his nose up at the idea, his blond bangs falling messily across his brow, "No, those aren't really kids I'd hang out with."

"How could you say that when you haven't even met them?" Jack furrowed his brow at his son, "I think you should at least try it. Who knows, you might learn more about science and actually like it."

"Come on, Dad, you can't make me give my summer up for _that_," Charlie said, looking up at him nearly pleadingly.

"Well, if not that, what about the art camp at the park?"

"No," Charlie replied quickly, shaking his head, "Not that either."

"What will you do all summer, Charlie?" Jack asked, "You can't spend every day hoping entertainment will fall into your lap. You need things to do every day. Why don't you at least go with Valentina to some of her clubs?"

"I have plenty to do," Charlie told his father dismissively, "I'm sure I'll latch onto whatever Ross, Ivan, and Kenneth are planning to do this summer. I saw lots of minnows at the fishing hole back in March. Surely there will be plenty to catch down there this summer."

"Charlie, what do you think you want to do in the future?" Jack asked and his son paused for a moment, a juice glass dangling into the suddy water.

"I don't know. I don't have to worry about that right now."

"But you'll have to eventually."

Charlie gnawed on his lip for a moment, "But right now, I don't."

Jack sighed, lowering his eyes back to his task.

...

Upstairs, Rose seated herself in Valentina's desk chair and waited patiently with a huge grin on her face as her daughter grabbed her instrument, positioned herself, and double checked her sheet music. Rose had been hearing the song nearly every day for the past two and a half weeks, but it was miraculous to her how much Valentina had refined it over those fourteen days. It had become solid, carooning out of her trumpet like second nature. Valentina glanced to her mother for a moment before she shifted her weight back and forth and lifted her trumpet. There was a short delay before Valentina pressed the ivory keys down and belted out the first measure.

Rose watched, absolutely immersed, in Valentina's performance. She lowered her chin to the back of the chair, her heart full of so much pride and adoration for Valentina. The girl swung back and forth as she played, her fingers moving knowingly. If people didn't know better, they could have been listening to a professional from the stages of Brooklyn, New York. In the next moment, however, Valentina's notes staggered. She obviously caught herself off guard and realized soon the error had been in her fingers, on a note she had had difficulties jumping to in the past. Valentina's music floundered into silence and she lowered her instrument, seemingly perplexed for a moment. Rose straightened up in her seat, observing her daughter.

In the next few beats, Valentina broke down into a full on sob. She disregarded her trumpet across her bed, pressing her hands to her face to shield her ugly cries. Rose was to her feet in an instant, coming to Valentina's side and coaxing her to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. Valentina sobbed as Rose wrapped her arms around her.

"Sweetheart, it's alright... sh, sh, sh," Rose whispered, stroking her hand along Valentina's curly hair that was freed from their normal constricted braids, "Hey, come on... catch a breath for me, please. Deep breath, Valentina, through your nose."

Valentina followed her mother's orders, unevenly inhaling, her breath still sputtering from her lips in whimpers. She rubbed furiously at her wet eyes. Rose tenderly ran her thumb along her tear stained cheek, "Baby, it's alright. It was one note. Don't let that warrant any tears."

"That's _the _note, Momma!" Valentina wailed, "The one that will kill my audition!"

"Valentina, one missed note of the lot of them won't sink you," Rose told her, setting her hand on her shoulder, "Everyone makes mistakes. It doesn't define who you are."

"Momma, I only have forty-five seconds to make an impression," Valentina told her tensely, her cheeks flushed, "There is no room for missed notes."

"Sweetheart, I think you should take a break from the piece for a day or so," Rose replied, gently massaging her wiry shoulder, "There's such a thing as over-preparing. You can come back with fresh eyes later."

"When I slack, there's someone working harder. I really don't have time to take a break like that, Momma," Valentina stood now and approached the music stand, "I just need to practice more. My fingers _have _to cooperate."

Rose watched with pursed lips, her heart aching for Valentina. Her need to be a perfectionist, her constant desire to be an over achiever, sometimes came at great costs to Valentina. She was easily overrun, overwhelmed, and exhausted. She would sacrafice her own comfort, her empty stomach, if it meant she could squeeze one more thing onto the list of things to complete. Rose thought about how distinctly different both her children were. Between Valentina's high strung nature and Charlie's recent aimlessness, Rose worried if she could be creative enough to come up with two entirely different solutions before it became hapless.

...

That night, Rose laid in bed propped up with her hands laced over her stomach. She was sunken beneath their large floral quilt. She watched as Jack finished brushing his teeth and took his pain medication. He dabbed his face with the towel on the counter and grabbed his cane, rounding the bed. He seated himself and sighed, rubbing at his knee for a moment.

"Jack, I'm concerned," Rose said, staring straight ahead at the wardrobe on the opposite wall.

Jack paused from massaging his knee and looked towards the window in front of him, "I think we still got a chance to get through to Charlie," He told her, glancing over his shoulder.

"No, this is about Valentina," Rose replied, sitting up now on her hand, "Jack, I'm worried about her perfectionist nature. She's too hard on herself. It's not healthy."

"Well," Jack said as he swung his legs onto the bed and folded the quilt over himself, "why do you think she tries so hard?"

"I wish I knew," Rose sighed, pressing a hand to her cheek, "The smallest things cause her anxiety. Her need to have everything absolutely perfect will drive her insane, Jack. And it's so difficult. How do you parent one child to tone back on trying to over achieve while under the same roof parent a different child to scale up his achievements?"

"You definitely won't find any answers in parenting books," Jack told her. He reached over to his side table and turned the lamp off, "We just have to take it day by day. Just look for the moments they need support. Between you and I, I think we got it."

"I hope so..." Rose replied, turning her lamp off and plunging the room into darkness. She shifted on the creaky bed beside Jack, their faces resting only inches apart, "I love you."

"I love you, too," He whispered, his voice husky with sleep.

...

_June 7th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Nearly a week into summer vacation, Valentina was out the gate with things to keep her busy. Monday and Tuesday's after lunch, Valentina would attend an Ancient Rome history club hosted at the library. Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings, Valentina's jazz quartet met for practice. Valentina was usually late for dinner on these days. Wednesday and Saturday evenings, Valentina was off with friends attending jazz concerts. Sunday was the only day Rose had Valentina home all day long. As Rose watched Valentina zipping between the kitchen for a quick bite, to her music stand for a quick practice, to her writing desk to prep for upcoming events with her clubs, she also watched as Charlie spent hours in his rooms with his model trains, laid on the couch, or went for aimless bike rides that had him returning and complaining of the boring state of Miles City.

Rose made herself a mug of tea while she was on a break from writing her musings for the _Miles City Tribune, _a job she had taken on during the Great War. As she stirred her sugar cubes into her steaming drink, she approached the window behind the dining table that overlooked the backyard. She spied Charlie laying on his back with his arms and legs splayed out into the grass. There was a forgotten ball resting beside his head. He was simply staring at the sky.

Rose pursed her lips for a moment before she opened the screen door and stepped out into the shade of the back balcony. Still, she observed Charlie for the slightest moment more before she called out to him, "Charlie! Come here, will you?"

The boy was slow to his feet and she watched as he walked at his own pace through the yard, uncaring of blades of grass stuck to his trousers, shirt, and hair. Rose maternally combed through his hair with her finger once he was within arms length. It was still amazing to her how much he looked like a young Jack with different colored eyes.

"Charlie, what are you doing?" Rose asked, sipping her tea.

"I dunno..." Charlie shrugged, "Just layin' there..."

"Well, what are you going to do today?" Rose prodded, lowering her mug from her lips and arching her eyebrows, "What if I gave you some money for the cinema?"

"There's nothin' good out," Charlie shook his head, "I've already seen the one about the German Shephard, Rin Tin Tin."

"What if you and your sister got some ice cream and went for a nice walk?"

"Is Valentina even home?" Charlie asked, furrowing his dark eyebrows.

"Yes, she got home about an hour ago," Rose grinned, "Come on, let's go talk to her."

Rose pressed her hand gently to her son's shoulder and guided him inside. Her heels clunked on the wooden stairs as she followed Charlie up the staircase and down the hall. They came to Valentina's doorway to find her polishing the bell of her trumpet while trying to study her sheet music.

"Tina," Rose said, rapping her knuckle against the open door, "I think you and Charlie should get out for a bit. I'll give you money for ice cream. How does that sound? It's such a beautiful day outside. You two could sit on the patio, maybe head to the park for a walk. What do you say?"

"Uh, well..." Valentina's braid fell over her shoulder, "I haven't really gotten to practice today, Momma. We were having a Quiz Bowl at history club today, so I spent the morning reading. I really should practice."

"Well, I say you take a break," Rose told her. She entered the room and set her mug on Valentina's desk, spying her plentiful notes about Roman culture. Rose put her hands on her hips and turned to Valentina, "When's the last time you and your brother did something?"

"We ate breakfast together this morning," Valentina shrugged.

"When's the last time you two went out and played together?" Rose sighed. She went to Valentina's yellow and white striped curtains and gingerly pulled them back, allowing the sun to bleed into the room. She then turned back to her daughter and scooped up her music stand, replacing it against the wall at the foot of her bed, "I say put the trumpet down and get out today," Rose said, setting the music sheet on Valentina's desk. She paused, looking over her shoulder at her children before throwing in, "Please."

"Well... maybe for a little while," Valentina finally said, sliding off the side of her bed and replacing her trumpet in its case, "But I have to practice after dinner."

"Sure, for a little while," Rose agreed, pleased with herself. She walked down the hallway to her bedroom and reached for her purse sitting on the chest at the foot of their bed. Valentina and Charlie appeared in her doorway while she fished through her purse. She grinned to herself at the thought of her children getting some quality time together this afternoon. Rose decided to spoil them a bit and turned towards them, extending a ten dollar bill out.

"Ten dollars?" Valentina was surprised as she took it into her hands, "Momma, are you sure?"

"Of course," Rose replied, looking between the children, "You can get the fully loaded banana split or get twice as many scoops of ice cream as you usually do. Your pick!"

"Wow, cool!" Charlie grinned, snagging the bill into his hands to get a good look at it. He stared intently at the stoic face of Alexander Hamilton, not having a clue as to who it was. But he didn't care. He had ten dollars to eat to his hearts content. He already envisioned himself as King of the Ice Cream Parlor, "Let's go, Tina!"

Rose listened to her children's feet bound down the stairs and barrell out the door. She grinned as she approached the open window in her bedroom overlooking the front yard. She watched as Valentina and Charlie skipped over to their bikes that were constantly disregarded in the yard. They clambered onto their bikes and quickly zoomed out from the property, turning onto the wide road leading towards downtown. She watched as Valentina's braids finally disappeared out of sight.

_That's a win for mom, _Rose thought triumphantly, grabbing her mug and heading back to the kitchen.

...

Not too long later, Rose heard the front door open from where she was in the kitchen. She glanced to the clock on the wall above the kitchen sink, slicing a knife through a sandwich diagonally, _Right on time, as usual, _Rose grinned to herself, setting the ham and cheese sandwich with mustard, lettuce, and tomatos on a plate, serving some potato crisps with it as well. Jack came through the kitchen archway. He leaned his cane against the island and rounded the counter, pecking Rose on the cheeks. She grinned, holding his plate and a glass of lemonade out to him.

"Thank you," Jack said, taking it to a stool at the island. Rose grabbed her own sandwich and seated herself beside him. They ate in a silence for a few moments, which grabbed Jack's attention. Slowly, he looked around, as if expecting something to pop out at him, "It's so quiet. I don't hear trains or trumpets... no one is arguing... Are you getting them to take naps?"

Rose giggled at the thought and grinned at Jack, "Actually, I coaxed Valentina and Charlie to hang out at the ice cream parlor with a ten dollar bill."

"Ah, bribery," Jack smirked, popping a crisp into his mouth, "Momma's best friend."

"Well, if it works," Rose shrugged, setting her sandwich on the plate, "It's nice to have the chance of a quiet lunch with you, anyway."

Jack smiled and reached out, gently resting his hand over the top of Rose's. He gazed into the green eyes that he grew to adore more and more every day. Her sweet angelic face that greeted him every morning. There wasn't a day that went by where he didn't consider being madly in love with that woman. His wife, the mother of his children; she was everything to him. He arched his eyebrows in the next moment, giving her a mischevious look.

"You gave 'em a ten dollar bill, huh?" Jack pressed a hand to his chin, "That'll get them both a mountain of ice cream. I say we have time to gi upstairs and _really _enjoy our lunch break, whaddya say?" He grinned at her, flashing her a look that just about made her melt. Even after nearly a decade together, that man still knew how to make her swoon. Rose felt her cheeks radiate.

"Yes, please," Rose smiled, hopping from her stool. She grabbed his cane and handed it to Jack. The moment he balanced on his feet, their lips were drawn to each other like magnets. Feverishly kissing each other, their lips never parted as they backed out of the kitchen and stumbled up the stairs, all the while fumbling with each others buttons. The house was not quiet for long.


	3. The Guide

Chapter Three

_June 7th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The ice cream parlor closest to Valentina and Charlie's neighborhood was rather busy that hot summer afternoon. Children lined the curbs with treats dribbling down their hands and wrists and eventually falling to the warm concrete. School children were the primary population crowding the indoor and outdoor space. Both of the Dawson children recognized some faces from their own school. They even spotted the kids who lived down the street from them on Evergreen Terrace. Valentina threw a second glance at a group of children sitting at a circular iron wrought table with a cream colored umbrella shading it. It was a group of students from the snooty private school up in the far mountains of Miles City. Valentina at one point had expressed interest in going, but the school was expensive and Jack and Rose believed she was thriving where she was, anyway. Valentina was glad she didn't go, though. The children of their school were affluent and stuffy. She recognized half the table as part of the jazz ensemble in their school. Charlie scanned every face he passed as he and his sister entered the parlor that was bursting with sweets on all surfaces. Every swivelling bar stool at the candy counter was full. Some stools even had two children sharing. Milkshakes, malt balls, and large lollipops were passed up and down the bar. The older man working the counter shared jokes with the children, who laughed because of their sugar rush. Charlie again looked all around the parlor. No Ivan, no Ross, and no Kenneth. Where had they gone?

Charlie and Valentina caught the attention of the worker and ordered themselves both the full she-bang of banana splits. The man held the large porcelain dishes down towards the siblings and they nearly drooled as they looked at four scoops of vanilla ice cream lathered in cherry and chocolate sauce with an entire banana supporting the structure. The employee had topped it with sprinkles and peanut shavings, adding a plump red cherry to the very top for extra delight. Charlie and Valentina found themselves a table outside in the far corner of the patio, just as a group of four other children left, hopping on their bikes.

The Dawson children sunk into the warm garden chairs and quickly began unrolling their silverware to begin eating their treat, as if they would never taste anything like it ever again. Charlie had some cherry sauce dribble onto his white button up, but he paid it though mind. He assumed his mother would be able to take care of it. He looked to his sister, who was eager to eat, but was refined and careful about not getting any on her pink and green striped dress.

"So, I've noticed you've been bored lately," Valentina shot him a look with her honey colored eyes. Slowly, she licked some whip cream off of her spoon and went for another scoop, "Where are your annoying friends?"

"They're not annoying," Charlie rolled his eyes at his sister, "I'm guessin' their families went out of town or something," Charlie now shrugged, lifting his cherry from his sundae, too impatient to save it for last. He lowered the cherry into his mouth and tossed the stem towards a flock of crows on the other side of the hedges encasing the patio, "I haven't seen any of them since school let out."

"Don't you think that's weird?" Valentina knit her eyebrows together as she managed to balance a chunk of banana on her spoon, "Ross and Ivan used to come over at least five times a week."

"Yeah, I dunno," Charlie shrugged again. Valentina could tell her brother was meerly trying to sweep it under the rug, act passive, as if he was too cool to care. Valentina could see right through her brother, however, "I'll catch up with them soon."

"If you say so," Valentina told him, making sure her tone rang out as uncertain. She put another spoonful of sugar into her mouth and looked to her dwindling banana split. Between her urgent desire to consume it and the sun's job of melting it, it was disappearing rapidly before her very eyes. A table of children nearby let out screeches and scraped from their chairs as a bird swooped down in an attempt to steal someones dessert. Charlie grinned mischeviously at the sight for the slightest moment before looking back to Valentina.

"Can I tell you something?" Charlie asked, "You have to promise to not tell Mom or Dad, got it?"

"Well, you gotta tell me what it is first," Valentina replied, getting a good collection of chocolate syrup wallowing in her spoon. She lifted her eyes to her little brother.

"Alright..." Charlie muttered, shifting back and forth in his seat in his typical squirmy fashion, "Have you met the new kids at school?"

"What new kids?" Valentina asked as a warm breeze had her braids drifting in the wind.

"It's these three new boys, they're all thirteen, I think," Charlie told her.

"What about them?"

"Well, I just remember when they first moved here, Ivan and Ross were kinda star struck by them. Apparently they're really cool..."

"And?" Valentina shrugged.

Charlie took a moment to watch a stream of chocolate syrup drizzle from his spoon, "I think the oldest boys name is Lawrence. Apparently at night time, all the older kids meet up at the river in the park where it's dark. I think I'm going to go down there one night to meet up with them."

"No way," Valentina looked up from her sundae, which was nearing completion, "You're not even in the fourth grade, Charlie! I've heard some pretty scary rumors about what happens down there."

"Like what?" Charlie shot his sister an unconvinced look.

"I'm serious, Charlie," Valentina told him. She disregarded her spoon into her ice cream dish. It clattered between them, sliding down into the remnants of the sticky mess, "They hunt elementary students for sport. They'll beat you up or take your lunch money. They could even steal your bike! I know that Lawrence-boy. He's the one who purposefully ripped some pages out of books in the library. I remember Mrs. Thompson was so upset. You can't go down there, Charlie. If you do, you're dead meat."

"Oh come on," Charlie gave her a pouty look, "You're just sayin' all of that 'cause you're the teacher's pet. If Ivan and Ross are hanging out with them, then I should, too. We have the entire summer to do whatever we want. I wanna spend it with them and make it the most memorable summer ever!"

Valentina shook her head, her braids beating against the back of her neck.

...

Back at the house, Jack and Rose hurriedly began to get re-dressed. As Rose stumbled into her stockings and Jack clipped his suspenders on, they both looked tentatively at the clock. Jack had about twenty minutes before he was due back at the office for a meeting. Rose was beginning to suspect the children had indulged in their treats and would be returning home shortly. As Rose smooth her stockings and secured them around her waist, she accidentally bumped into Jack. She grinned at her husband, her cheeks red from their impromptu alone time. He smirked at her, making her heart leap as if she was a school girl again.

Rose took the time to fix Jack's hair and straightened his suspenders. She held onto his arms as he enclosed them around her. Jack leaned in, reaching for his kiss again. Tenderly, their lips met and Rose wished they never had to part. But after a few moments of kissing, Jack finally heaved a sigh, "I gotta go back."

"I wish you didn't have to," Rose said softly, losing herself in the ocean of his eyes.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Jack grinned boyishly.

Together, the couple headed down to the front foyer. Rose reached for the door but paused when she suddenly remembered something. With her hand still on the brass doorknob, she looked to Jack, "Oh, I almost forgot- I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure, what is it?" Jack nodded.

"Do you think you could take Charlie to the office with you tomorrow? I mean, if it's not too troublesome," Rose said, "I'm worried about him, Jack. The kids have been out of school for over a week and Charlie hasn't done anything. Maybe something at the office will pique his interest."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Jack assured her as she opened the door and they stepped out onto the wide porch. They watched as the boy next door, who was two years younger than Charlie, worked on greasing his bike chain, "It would help me to have a runner, anyway. There isn't enough time in the world for me between approving assignments and gathering supplies. I'll have Charlie be the middle-man."

Rose grinned and pecked Jack's cheek, "Thank you!"

"I'll be home around six," Jack told her, smiling as he watched her short red curls bob in the warm breeze, "I'll see you later."

"I love you!" Rose called as Jack made his way down their cobblestone path leading towards the street. He grinned, casting one last glance over her as he stepped out of their white picket fence. There she was, his entire world, standing on the front porch of their beautiful home.

"Love you more!" He shouted. Rose watched his head bob out of sight. She sighed, leaning against the porch railing. She grew lost in thought over how much she loved that man.

...

Valentina and Charlie arrived home not even thirty minutes after their father left. Valentina immediately retreated to her room. Rose heard her shoes clicking on the hardwood floor, but by the time Rose looked out the open door of her office, she heard Valentina's door creaking shut. Rose went to the staircase bannister and leaned over, trying to peer into the living room, but noticed it was empty. She went to the library across the hall from her and Jack's master bedroom. Rose peeled the red velvet curtains back to see Charlie back in his usual spot from earlier that afternoon. Laying in the sky in endless daydreams. After a few moments, Valentina's trumpet began flooding the house. Rose looked over her shoulder, listening to each strong brassy note of Valentina's perfected practice.

Rose sank into a nearby armchair that was dark green and had round brass nailings on the arms. She continued looking through the sliver of the curtain, watching her son laze his entire summer vacation away. She thought long and hard about both her children during that moment. Her oldest, the forever over achieving Valentina, and her youngest, the coasting Charlie. It was amazing to her, at that time, how vastly different her children had become. It was as if neither of them had been raised in the same household. Neither affected the other.

Valentina's trumpet quieted down after a few moments as she finished the piece. But it wasn't long before she started again. It would only be a few more weeks before Valentina's audition took place. Then, she hoped, her child would feel free to take more breaks in the evening after returning from her clubs and social gatherings. Rose directed her attention back out the window at Charlie, who was now boredly throwing the small red ball up into the air and attempting to catch it without having to move. Rose was hopeful that tomorrow would change things for Charlie. She had hope that maybe Jack could get him back to drawing as she noticed he hadn't had a piece of paper in front of him in weeks. She considered that maybe Jack would give their son a camera to experiment with or show him how to develop pictures and pique his curious and scientifically inclined nature.

All Rose knew, however, as she watched her son, was that they needed to do something quickly. She knew all too well that people with undecided wants and needs had a tendency to stray. And she could not, for the life of her, allow her son to wander too far from the path.

...

Dinner that night was spaghetti and meatballs with shavings of parmesean cheese. It was easily one of Charlie's favorite meals and he gobbled it up in pure delight. Valentina ate quickly and Rose had to redirect her attention from a book several times.

"Valentina, baby, can you read after dinner?"

"Valentina, this is family time, why don't you put the book away?"

"Valentina, your father asked you a question."

As soon as she had cleared her plate to Rose's satisfaction, she zipped back up the stairs where she quickly brushed her teeth and hurried to return to her trumpet. Charlie disappeared not long after to polish his tin car collection and rearrange it on his bookshelf. Jack and Rose spent the evening together washing the dishes and listening to their talented daughter play the trumpet. After they had completed cleaning up dinner, they sat out on the back patio together with glasses of wine. Jack languidly exhaled his cigarette as he watched the lightening bugs come alive at the back end of their yard.

"Do you hear that?" Rose lifted her eyes from her moscato, "She started again, Jack. That's nearly twenty times in a row she's practiced that same piece this evening."

"Yeah," Jack nodded, tilting his head back to hear the trumpet more wholly, "she's really determined to get a higher chair this year."

As the evening carried on, Jack went to go take his evening bath and shave his face in preparation for another day at the office. Rose attempted to spell check her musings but found herself staring at the clock on the wall, listening to Valentina's continued trumpet practice, watching the seconds tick away. As the clock struck a quarter to nine, Rose resigned herself from her writing desk and knocked on Valentina's door. Valentina's trumpet abruptly stopped.

"Come in!"

Rose entered her daughter's organized and collected room to see her standing in the center, trumpet in hand, sheet music at the ready. Rose leaned against the doorway, pressing her forehead to the cool moldings.

"Hey, you," Rose said gently, "I think it's time for you to get into your jammies, let your hair out of those braids, and get into bed."

"Can I practice just a little longer?" Valentina nearly pleaded, holding her trumpet to her chest.

"I think you've practiced enough," Rose told her, coming into the room completely now.

"Alright..." Valentina sighed, gingerly lowering her trumpet into the case. After being sure to flip the brass locks over, she went to her closet and pulled a cotton nightgown down with lacy cuffs and a floral design.

"Don't forget to wash your face. And remember behind your ears," Rose told her as she began untucking the quilts in Valentina's bed. She took the time to fluff Valentina's goose down pillows and smoothed the cotton sheet hugging her springy mattress. As Rose leaned over to flick Valentina's gas lamp on that was perched on her night table, she noticed her very old and well used copy of _Pride and Prejudice _sitting there. Slowly, Rose ran her slender fingers across the cover of the book, remembering vividly the day Jack had purchased it for her at a travel booth found in a train station in 1912. That was before Valentina, when Charlie was just a twinkle in their eyes. She grinned at the memories, inspecting the slightest fraying on the spine, "How far have you gotten?" Rose called, lifting the book and turning towards the attached bathroom where Valentina was hunched over the sink.

Valentina lifted her head, "Oh, not far. Mrs. Bennett is pleased to know she's finally been invited to a ball," She laughed at the idea before dipping her hands into the cool water coming from faucet. Valentina dabbed her face and then worked on releasing her hair from the braids. She combed at it furiously, but the tight curls were resistant to her will, instead opting to provide volume. Valentina gave up on it and decided to embrace the large mountain of hair that added over an inch to her height. She stepped behind the closet door and changed into her nightgown. When she flicked the light off and exited the bathroom, she saw her mother was still admiring the book in her hand.

Valentina climbed over the bed stand at the foot and clambered up to her pillows, plopping down beside her mother's waist, "When's the last time you read it, Momma?"

"Oh... it wasn't 1912, I know that," Rose clucked, lowering the book and looking at Valentina, "I think I read it while your father was in France. 1918, yes."

"Was it as good the second time around?" Valentina asked curiously.

Rose reached down, brushing her fingers along her thick hair, "It was."

Rose put the book on the nightstand and turned her bedroom light off. She came back to the side of Valentina's bed and sat down, extending her arm over Valentina's legs and facing her. Valentina's face had a warm orange glow to it in the light of her gas lamp. Rose was quiet for a few beats. She reached out and grasped her daughter's small slender hands, "Tina, baby... I just want you to know your father and I love you very much," She whispered tenderly, "We want nothing but happiness for you. We want to spoil you as much as we can."

Valentina lowered her eyes to their intertwined hand. Her mother's hand was so starkly different from her's with a beautiful glow to it. Slowly, Valentina looked back to her mother.

"I'm concerned, Valentina," Rose continued gently, "I am worried that you are pushing yourself too hard. I don't want you to bite off more than you can chew. You can't keep on at this rate. You never get any alone time. When do you get to recharge by yourself? I don't want you to burn yourself out."

"Momma, really, I'm not," Valentina shook her head, "I enjoy what I do. I want to do it. I have to do it!"

"Why do you have to do it?" Rose asked.

Valentina just shrugged, "I'm happy, Momma. And... I love you, too."

"Would you tell me if you were unhappy?"

Valentina was quiet for a few beats, looking back to their weaved fingers. She licked her lips and nodded, looking towards her mother ratherly coyly, "Yes, Momma. I would."


	4. A Day at the Office

Chapter Four

_June 8th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

_I told her I would do it... _Jack thought, _I guess I kinda promised her... _Beside his desk, the extra office chair he had squeaked horrendously, piercing Jack's ears every time. He looked up from the article he was trying to spell check and looked towards his son, who was slumped in the chair, uselessly kicking himself in circles on the old creaky swivel. Jack held in a sigh and returned to his sheet as Charlie's face came to pass him by, bringing about the awful creaking noise. Jack glanced subconsciously towards his open office door, but luckily, the printing and typing room were much louder than his own. Jack ground his teeth together and pressed his work flat to his desk.

"Hey, Charlie," Jack said, "I need some supplies from the work station. Can you go get it for me?"

Charlie slowly swiveled his chair to face his father, blowing a blond lock from his in between eyes away, "Wait, I got a question."

"Yes?"

"I was just thinkin'... 'bout that metal in your knee cap. You know, the part the doctor couldn't remove."

"What about it?" Jack asked, folding his hands together.

"Could it ever, like... grow out of your leg and give you super strength?" Charlie bucked up, "Could it make you jump really high? Like, to the skyscrapers roofs we saw in New York City?"

Jack almost laughed. A smile broke across his face and he shook his head, "No, sorry to burst your bubble, bud, but that's, unfortunately, not how it works."

"Man, it would be a lot cooler if it did," Charlie sighed, slumping back against the large office chair and making it jolt.

"Did you hear me? I need some supplies," Jack said, "It doesn't give me super strength. It gives me pain. So, would you go get me a few things?"

"Sure," Charlie shrugged, pulling himself out of the chair and coming to stand in front of his father's desk. Jack took a moment to inspect his boy. His unruly blond hair that was beggining for a cut. His dark bold brows. His mother's green eyes. The freckles scattered across his cheekbones and nose from his many days out in the sunlight. It was amazing how much Charlie resembled Jack in his childhood. It was as if he had effectively made a clone of himself.

"Alright, I need red ink, green ink, and blue ink. Just bring the whole wells. I could use a rubber eraser, too. And please bring a ream of paper back with you," Jack told him, "Got it?"

"Got it," Charlie nodded. He waved to his dad and wandered out of his office and into the hectic world of twenty-one journalists and photographers for _Dazzling People, Nature, and Art_ that were in the final mayhem-stages of the July edition being approved. Charlie took his time inspecting the employee's desks, pausing to look at pictures of families and children. Charlie spotted a picture of a car on another man's desk and dashed over there, snagging the frame into his hand and nearly drooling over it. Charlie had always been fascinated with anything with motors and rubber wheels. Something about going fast or high made him feel giddy.

"Ya like it?" An elderly man with an eye patch said, grinning at Charlie from behind a plume of smoke coming from his cigar, "That's my baby."

"Would you let me drive it?" Charlie asked, looking up at the man. He felt into a cackly laugh and reached forward, rustling his already messy hair.

"You're Jack's boy, ain't ya?"

"Yeah, the name's Charlie Dawson," He told him, looking back at the picture in his hand.

"Tell your daddy Mr. Lance Hunter will take you for a ride after work today," Lance grinned, tapping some ash off into his ashtray.

"Okay, deal!" Charlie grinned, immediately zipping back to his father's office, "Dad! Dad!" Charlie yelled, coming to Jack's side. Jack looked up with arched eyebrows, surprised to find Charlie's face only inches from his, "Mr. Lance said he will me take me for a ride in his car after work today!"

Jack nearly rolled his eyes, "Yeah, we'll see, bud. Mr. Lance is an old man with an early bedtime. We'll play it by ear."

"Oh, I'll make sure he doesn't work himself too hard, then!" Charlie grinned, "I wouldn't want him to get tired and change his mind."

"Charlie, no," Jack sighed, "Please Mr. Lance alone. Did you get my supplies? Do you remember what I asked for?" Jack went through the list with Charlie again, "Go straight to the supplies closet, come straight back, alright?"

Charlie let out a huff and scuffed his boots to his father's office rug before he shuffled out. Lance's desk was in sight of Jack's office door. Charlie could feel his father's eyes directly on his back end and he trudged past Lance with his head cocked down, his mood spoiled. Jack sighed now, shaking his head. Lance would joke the same way about taking Rose for a ride. Jack looked back to his paper and let out a huff, wishing it was finished. Charlie had him so distracted.

Charlie made it further than he ever had in his father's business as he trekked to the opposite side of the building where all the supplies were stored. Charlie had only been back there once, and that was just with his mother to put a surprise lunch for Jack in the office break room. He had been much younger at that time. As Charlie turned the corner of the hallway, out of sight of the main area of work, the young Dawson boy came across the supply closet. The door was slightly ajar and he could see shelves that were neatly organized. Just at the end of the hallway, however, Charlie could see the break room equipped with a gas stove and an ice chest. Charlie saw something on the counters and immediately he bee-lined for the break room, completely forgetting his father's request for a second time.

Charlie scraped a chair away from the table, happy to find the breakroom empty due to it still being early afternoon. He pushed it against the counter and scrambled up. Immediately, he began snickering to himself. He was King of the Outdoors, King of the Ice Cream Parlor, and now, he was King of Sugar. Sitting in front of him, piled precariously on a small porcelain dish with gold painted daisies, were a stack of donuts with an opaque glaze covering them. There were a full baker's dozen. Charlie suspected nobody was aware of their presence yet.

Without a moment of hesitation, Charlie snagged the donut on top, as if he was claiming his crown. His parents rarely bought him donuts. They said they were too sugary and would rot his teeth. But fried dough was one of his favorites and whenever the county fair came to town, he would shamelessly use money given to him by his parents to eat himself silly at the fried donut booth. Upon putting it into his mouth, he was in absolute heaven. He decided it had been worth being woken up at eight in the morning for. He crammed the first donut into his mouth, already reaching for the next. He hopped down from his chair and went towards the supply closet now, already nibbling on his next donut.

Charlie aimlessly wandered around the supplies room, standing on his tip toes to look at shelves and using his sticky fingers to pick nice fountain pens up to inspect. Charlie walked towards the back end of the closet, coming across an area where pictures were laid out. Charlie approached the large work bench to see a journal had been left open with some notes scribbled on the exposed page. Surrounding it were several pictures taken only moments apart. Charlie lifted the journal and spied Lance Hunter written on the front page. He grinned to himself and grabbed the discarded pen. In his chicken scratch, he wrote a line beneath Lance's last note.

_My dad said you were old and have an early bed time. I hope that doesn't mean we can't go for a ride sometime! (P.S. I can keep a secret if you can!)_

Charlie continued along on his escapade in the supplies closet. He found vials of ink and tested some out on parchment paper he found. Curiously, he dribbled the paints together to see what kind of colors he could create. He managed to get the cuffs of his shirt dirty and added some finger stains to his collar. He found string and thought it would be funny to make miniature lassos. He was seated on the floor with string running all over his lap, knotting together, as he focused on making a decent loop for his project.

"Charlie?" His head snapped up when he heard his father's voice. Jack came around the shelves and sighed when he found Charlie nearly tied up in string, "Charlie, you've been gone for over ten minutes. What are you doing?" Jack looked behind his son to see a wake of a mess with papers stained in ink, darkened by being combined. He then looked back to Charlie and nearly sighed all over again. Jack knelt in front of his boy and reached out to inspect his collar, "You know your mom isn't going to be happy about this..."

"I was just trying to entertain myself," Charlie shrugged, causing some string to fall down his dirty sleeves, "I'm not like you, Dad. I can't just sit in an office all day. It's too much like the classroom."

"One day, you might have to," Jack told him, setting his elbow to his good knee, "If it means you can make money and buy things for yourself, you might work in an office. And that's okay, Charlie."

"I'll die of boredom," Charlie scrunched his nose up.

"Well, instead of making a mess in here, how about I get you set up with a camera and some film?" Jack suggested, "I'll let you go outside and take pictures of whatever you want. I think you'd really like photography, Charlie."

"No thanks," Charlie shook his head and began working on getting himself out of his tangles of string. Jack helped by lifting some, allowing his son to get his head away from the mess, "I don't really wanna do anything artsy this summer. I'm gonna give it a break."

Jack frowned as he watched his son re-roll the string, rather untidy, before replacing it on the shelf. He then wandered over to his discarded parchment and lifted it, inspecting the dark and smudgey looking ink that had blended together and set. Jack saw his own self in that moment. There had been a time when Jack had attempted to erase art from his identity out of fear of not being accepted, being judged, and being hungry for the rest of his life. He knew now it had been a mistake. He couldn't let his son do the same thing.

...

As the clock slowly ticked into the eleven o'clock hour, Rose realized she hadn't seen Valentina all morning. The morning had been such a whirlwind getting Charlie out of bed, bathed, and fed without making Jack late to work. She felt bad when she realized her daughter hadn't been present during Charlie's groggy attitude over his oatmeal. Rose peeled herself away from the June edition of _Dazzling People, Nature, and Art. _She grabbed her mug of steaming tea and ascended the stairs. When she first arrived at Valentina's closed bedroom door, she pressed her ear to it. She didn't hear any movement on the other side. It was unlike Valentina to sleep so late. Rose gently rapped on the door, but no answer came. Rose opened the door and peered in.

The first thing Rose noticed was her empty bed, left unmade. Immediately, Rose gazed around the room until her eyes laid on Valentina, who was hunched over on her writing desk. Her hair was still free from her usual bedtime routine. She was still wearing her cotton nightgown. Rose came to stand beside her to find Valentina fast asleep with her face glued to the inside of a book.

"Tina?" Rose gently nudged her shoulder, rousing the girl from her slumber. Valentina's eyes fluttered as she lifted her head. She rubbed at her face furiously and blinked rapidly, as she finally came to realize what was going on. Valentina looked to her book and quickly reached for her notes that were slightly bent due to her unintended nap, "Care to explain what's going on?"

Valentina was quiet for a few moments, her eyes locked on her notes. She finally mustered the courage to look at her mother's curious eyes and her voice almost faltered, "Please don't be mad," Came tumbling out of her throat, "After you left last night, I tossed and turned for the longest time, Momma. I have a presentation for the history club this week and I just felt so unprepared... so I started reading and taking notes-"

"Are you telling me you _slept _at your desk last night?" Rose asked, nearly flabbergasted.

"Well... I... I didn't mean to," Valentina stuttered.

Rose set her mug on the table and grabbed a nearby ottoman from Valentina's reading nook. She seated herself beside her daughter, pressing her hand to her knee, "Sweetheart, I am getting concerned. Do you remember the talk we had last night about over exertion? That's exactly what I think is going on here. It's your summer vacation. You should be relaxing. There's no reason at all for you to be working yourself so hard like this."

"Momma," Valentina sighed, her eyes sinking to her painstakingly researched notes, "this is important to me. And you and daddy always say, anyway, that if it's worth doing, do it with 110 per-cent!"

"But, honey, you should only do that if it doesn't mean compromising yourself," Rose told her, reaching for Valentina's slender hand now, "I'm worried you don't have enough alone time. And I'm beginning to worry you're not sleeping or eating enough. I don't want you to make yourself sick, sweetheart. Why don't you stay home with me today? Charlie went with your father to the office. You and I can have a girl's day, what do you say?"

"What time is it?" Valentina's brown eyes darted to her mother's.

"It's nearly noon," Rose replied, glancing towards her silver wrist watch, "We could go get some lunch. Maybe do a little window shopping."

"Oh, no!" Valentina cried, immediately racing from her chair and towards her closet. Furiously, she began combing through her dresses, hurriedly opening a drawer and selecting white stockings. She then snagged a brown and orange plaid dress and a white sweater from their hangers, hustling to her bed. She began undressing quickly. Rose stood and turned towards her daughter.

"What's the rush?" Rose asked. She watched her daughter put her sweater on backwards. She sighed and fought to turn it around. Quickly, she stepped into her dress and zipped the side, pulling her buckle-over shoes on over her stocking feet. Valentina dove into her bathroom, wrangling her tight curls into two pig tails at the nape of her neck.

"I told Melody and Oliver I would meet them at the school yard before practice so we could all share some pieces between each other. The jazz quartet has a show only three weeks after school starts in August," Valentina explained as she fixed orange bows to her pigtails, "Is my music folder still on the dining room table?"

"Last I checked," Rose nodded. Her daughter zoomed out from her connected bathroom and snagged her trumpet case off the floor, "Valentina!" Rose called, hurrying after her daughter who was clambering down the stairs. Valentina plopped her trumpet case on the ground, causing it to wobble, as she went to the dining room table to collect her folder. Rose stopped at the base of the stairs, "Valentina, I want you to stay home today."

"Momma, I can't," Valentina said without even looking up as she thumbed through the papers in her folder, "I have to go."

"Why do you have to?" Rose asked, coming to the back of a tall dining room chair, pressing her hand to the dark chestnut wood, "Valentina, the school doesn't require any of you to meet up during the summer. You have plenty of time to prepare for the next concert."

"No, it's important we all come an agreement now, so we can start practicing," Valentina replied, her brown eyes peering over the top of her folder, "And besides, after practice, one of our other jazz friends is performing at the coffee house beside the train station. We want to be in the front row."

"When are you going to be home?" Rose asked, furrowing her brow.

"Probably closer to seven, I think," Valentina shrugged, "I'll make sure to be home for dinner."

"Tina..." Rose sighed, standing between her daughter and the front door, "I don't think you should go out. I want to see you take just one day off this week. Can you do that for me?"

Valentina gnawed on her lip for a moment as she stuck her music folder under her arm and swooped down to pick her trumpet case up, which made the slender willowy girl walk at an angle. She gazed up at her mother and shrugged, "Probably on Sunday."

"Any day," Rose assured her, "I want to see you leave your schedule open for an entire day."

Valentina nodded, "I'll try."

Rose came to a kneel in front of Valentina and reached her hands out, gently carressing her cheeks and bringing her hands to rest on her shoulders, "You don't have to be this busy, Tina. You're allowed to take breaks for yourself, as many as you'd like. It won't change anybody's opinion about you, I promise."

Valentina stared at her mother for a moment before she lowered her eyes and nodded, "Alright."

Rose could sense there were words left unspoken by Valentina. But she knew it was a battle she would lose in the moment, especially when her daughter was already so fidgety to get out the door. Rose brought herself closer to Valentina, tenderly laying a kiss on her forehead, "Be careful. I love you."

"I love you, too, Momma," Valentina told her, looking to her once more before heading out the door. Rose let out a sigh, lowering her eyes to the tile floor as the quietness of the house surrrounding her really began to become noticeable.

...

Jack decided to take Charlie out for lunch. He had a hunch that if they went home for a meal with Rose, he wouldn't be able to coerce the boy back to the office for the day. Not with his train set and tin cars only ten feet away from him. After they had cleaned up his escapade in the supplies closet and had a stern talk about not taking food from the employee break room without asking for permission, Charlie ended up back in his squeaky chair, spinning in circles, interrupting his father's work every four minutes to muse about something only a nine year old boy could think of.

When Jack offered to take Charlie to his favorite diner, his eyes lit up. Jack wished he was able to get the boy as excited about art as he was about eating lunch. The Dawson boys left together as the early afternoon waned into a warm late afternoon. Not too many people were on the streets. Jack had purposefully delayed lunch to go when there wouldn't be a crowd. He had a few intents to speak seriously with Charlie. He was growing more concerned by the day with Charlie's passive behaviour regarding his troubled directionless way of life.

As the two made it to the final stretch leading towards the diner of their choice, Charlie gasped sharply, "Dad, look! It's Ivan! I haven't seen him since school let out!" Charlie took off in a run before Jack could reply. His father cursed under his breath, wishing he could be that fast. He hurried behind Charlie as his son approached the playmate Jack had come to know well. Ivan was one of the three musketeers from school that Charlie hung out with on nearly a daily basis. Ivan had practically lived at their house last summer as Charlie, Ivan, and Ross had an endless sleepover that lead them to the mountains during the day. Charlie was the youngest of his friends, who were already ten years old. Charlie wouldn't be ten until next April. Jack eventually caught up to his son, who was already eagerly greeting Ivan. However, his playmate looked rather exhausted and didn't mirror any energetic movements that Charlie was doing.

Jack grinned and greeted Ivan's mother, Eleanor. She was had dirty blonde hair that was curly. She usually kept her side bangs pinned to the back of her head, allowing the rest of her curls to lay on her collarbone. Her husband, Benjamin, had passed away from health complications during Ivan's infancy. She had never remarried. Eleanor and Rose ran in overlapping social circles, though they typically only spoke at school functions or parent-volunteer events. Money was always tight in the Greene household. Jack and Rose had anonymously paid for many of Ivan's school trip expenses when they knew Eleanor was stressed with how to pay for it.

"Hey, Eleanor, how're you doing?" Jack asked.

"I'm doing alright," Eleanor replied in her quiet airy voice. It wasn't uncommon for her to not be heard and she was easily spoken over with her hushed vocal chords, "How are you?"

"Doin' fine," Jack grinned, "Kind of wish school was still in."

Eleanor laughed politely at this, "Oh, I know. Everything has to change when the children are out of school."

"Charlie and I were headin' to Family's Corner Diner, you know, the new restaraunt that opened last spring? It has a pretty big playground for the kids. Did you and Ivan want to join?"

"Well," Eleanor glanced to her son. Ivan had tanned skin, much more similar in complexion to his father, and he had his mother's blond hair, which was shaved into a short cropped fashion, "we were just talking about what to do for a late lunch. If you don't mind us tagging along, that is."

"No, not at all," Jack shook his head, "My treat."

Eleanor blushed madly at the offer. It was almost as if Jack Dawson could see into her coin purse, "That's very kind of you, Jack. I certainly don't want to be a burden, though."

"It's no burden at all, I promise," Jack waved his hand dismissively, "And besides, between you and I, it'd be nice to have an adult conversation at lunch today."

Eleanor felt her face flush as she smiled at the polite patriarch of the Dawson family. She had seen how well he and Rose worked together as parents. Eleanor wished she knew what the feeling of team work felt like when rearing a child. The only time she had really ever felt comraderie was when she worked at her office. But she longed to have a partner to colloborate with on her project-of-a-son, whose father's absence was beginning to become noticeable. Jack took the lead with the group of four as they continued on their way to finally have some lunch that late and hot summer afternoon.

...

Eleanor and Jack seated themselves at a picnic table on the patio of the diner that was shaded by a large umbrella that was a bright red. They sipped on the waters they opted for while they waited for their meals to be delivered. Ivan and Charlie went on to start climbing the jungle gym. Jack watched as his young and wiry son climbed up faster than Ivan, grinning down at him and laughing about something. Jack looked back towards Eleanor, who was busy fluffing her hair away from the nape of her neck. She noticed Jack's eyes and blushed madly, sitting up straighter now.

"Thanks again for letting us tag along for lunch," Eleanor told him, "I was starting to worry I was all out ideas of ways to get Ivan to eat right and on time."

"My boy is the same way," Jack laughed, pressing his elbows to the table, "Picky as a bird, too."

"Oh, I don't think Ivan eats anything green."

"Yeah, a balanced diet is a fight in our household," Jack grinned, thinking fondly of Rose's maternal instincts that sometimes almost drove her crazy, "So, how are things on your front? I don't think I've seen you since the boys were in that play about the rabbit and spring time."

Eleanor drummed her fingers rather nervously against the crooked and weather beaten surface of the picnic table, "We're holding up," Eleanor finally said while nodding her head, "We, uh, actually may be moving this summer."

"Oh, really?" Jack asked, rather disappointed to hear. Ivan, Charlie, and Ross had been glued to each other's sides since they were only five years old, "Where to?"

"Kansas City," Eleanor replied, "My mother and father live there- in fact, it's where I grew up. I just found out that my position at the post office is being terminated and well... it was never great money, but without it, I'm absolutely lost on how to pay for things. I think maybe it will be a good change for Ivan. I'm trying to convince myself that some grandparent love will give him better structure overall."

"Your position was terminated?" Jack arched his eyebrows, "Have you said anything to Ivan yet?"

"No, not yet," Eleanor shook her head, "He's not the best at adapting to new situations. I'm concerned about shell-shocking him," Eleanor glanced towards the jungle gym that Ivan and Charlie were still swinging on like monkeys, "I thought it'd be best to let him enjoy his summer as much as possible."

Jack looked at the side of Eleanor's face as she watched her child. He knew she and Rose got along well enough. She had been over to their house a few times for birthday parties, for some girl time when Rose had invited mother's over with the promise of tea and cheesecake, and had been around to pick Ivan up from week-long sleep overs through the years. He thought it was a shame that Eleanor would have to move. Jack knew how fond of Ivan Charlie was. Jack bobbed his good knee for the slightest moment.

"What if I told you I had a receptionist job available at my office?" Jack asked, drawing Eleanor's dark brown eyes back towards him, "It would pay better than the post office, you'd have solid hours- I'd make sure it could work around your family's schedule."

"Wow- I mean... does the position actually exist?" Eleanor asked, the smallest glimmer of hope coming across her face, "I don't mean to be walking around with my hand out, Jack, but if you actually had work for me, well, that would be amazing. I'd love to be able to stay in Miles City. It's Benjamin's hometown, afterall."

"Yes, the position is actually open," Jack grinned, a breeze brushing some blond bangs across his forehead, "Whaddya say? Can I expect you at the start of next week?"

Eleanor was floored, stunned, and every other word in the book. She almost couldn't believe it. She had been wallowing for nearly the past two weeks since she had learned of her forced resignation. She had laid awake at night and stewed over what awaited her small family. Eleanor had felt pathetic most nights, resigned to sobbing into her pillow. She had felt worthless that she couldn't provide for the sole person who relied on her. But now, it seemed things were looking up, and her guardian angel was sitting in front of her at the picnic table, the light bathing over him and accentuating his blond heaven-like hair. Eleanor felt giddy on the inside.

"Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes, Jack! I absolutely cannot thank you enough," Eleanor told him, feeling overwhelmed and nearly flustered, "Anything you need me to do, I will do it! Thank you, you have no idea how much of a burden you just took off my shoulders," She let out a content sigh and gazed back towards the playground littered with children, but her eyes only rested on her own child, "This just means so much to me, Jack..."

Over at the playground, Charlie and Ivan were now situated atop the monkey bars, gazing over the other children as if they were their subjects. The hot sun beat into both of their necks, but they paid it no mind. Charlie was so pleased to finally see a friend again. It was almost as if they had disappeared without a trace and it left him with a great pit of anxiety in the bottom of his stomach. He looked towards Ivan. Ivan was much taller than him. He looked much more mature. Charlie felt nearly like a twig beside the boy. Ivan seemed to have a scowl forever engraved into his face and Charlie realized it had happened to him not long after he turned ten. In fact, Ross had developed a similar stewing attitude for themselves as well. Charlie worried about his next birthday in that moment. He gripped the monkey bars beneath him closely, planting his feet even harder against the wood frame.

"So... what'cha been up to?" Charlie asked, lazily swiping his messy bangs from his brow.

"Nothing, really..." Ivan nearly muttered. Charlie had to lean in to hear him.

"Well, where have you been?" Charlie pressed, "Have you seen Ross?"

"What, you haven't?" Ivan's brown eyes pierced Charlie's from over his shoulder.

"I haven't seen any of you since school let out," Charlie told him, furrowing his brow together, "Have you guys not noticed I was gone? I've been goin' to all our normal spots, but no one's ever there anymore. What gives?"

Ivan smirked, gazing over the playground of rumbunctious children down below, "If you're talkin' about the fishing hole and candy store, that's pretty lame."

"When did we decide that was lame?" Charlie asked. Ivan now looked at him.

"Guess you weren't at that voting session," Ivan replied, almost teasingly, "The candy store and fishing hole are too crowded. Too many people are around all the time and it's annoying. We can't do anything fun under adult supervision!"

"What do you wanna do?"

Ivan stared at Charlie for a few beats before clucking his tongue, "Not anythin' you would wanna do, don't worry about it."

"Come on, Ivan, why are you talkin' to me like I'm some dumb kid?" Charlie asked tensely, trying to keep his anger at bay and irrational thoughts to himself. He gripped the monkey bars below him so hard, his knuckles turned white, "Are you hanging out with those kids by the river at night?"

"I'm surprised you know about that," Ivan said plainly.

"Why didn't you guys invite me?" Charlie asked, "Or at least _tell _me?"

Ivan shrugged, "Guess we were just havin' a lot of fun with Lawrence to notice."

"Well, can I hang out with you guys, too?"

"I'd have to ask Lawrence."

"Ask permission?" Charlie looked at him with a furrowed brow, "What, is he king?"

"It's complicated to explain," Ivan said, barely looking at him, "Look, don't just go wanderin' down there at night by yourself, Charlie. Lawrence doesn't like that."

"Who cares?" Charlie shook his head. He was beginning to find himself utterly confused.

"Just listen to me, OK?" Ivan insisted, "I'll come back to you with a response."

Charlie pursed his lips and held a tense eye contact with his changed friend. He felt he had nothing good to say so he opted to not say anything at all. Charlie looked back over the playground as two boys zoomed by in a game of chase.

"Oh, and don't say anything about this to your parents," Ivan told him sternly, "I know you're a blabbermouth and a momma's boy, but you can't say a damn thing, got it, Charlie?"

"Yeah, whatever," Charlie muttered, completely dismayed by the interaction.

In the next moment, Ivan grinned at the side of Charlie's face. He then swooped his hand out, giving the boy a forceful push from behind. Charlie let out a yelp and windmilled his arm, but he fell from his perch, crashing on his side to the ground below.

"Charlie!" His father bellowed, coming to his feet immediately despite the searing pain in his knee. Charlie lifted his head, dirt now staining his already ruined shirt, with some clumps dangling from his unruly hair.

"Geez, Charlie, you got butterfingers!" Ivan shouted from above. Charlie glared over his shoulder towards Ivan. His anger only intensified when he saw his slimy smirk on his face.


	5. Meeting in the Park

Chapter Five

_June 11th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The weekend was coming to a close that rather chilly summer evening. Charlie laid across his bed, his window open to allow the chirping cicadas to serenade him. He stared boredly at the ceiling, his head dangling half way off of his bed. He let out a long sigh. It had been a few days since he had last talked to Ivan. Charlie knew at this point he had had many chances to speak with this King Lawrence, but Charlie already was calling himself a chump on the inside. Ivan wasn't being completely honest and trusting to Charlie.

_So, I'm being iced out... _Charlie thought, allowing his limp arm to dangle off his bed now, _Is this what I get for being the youngest one in the group? Just 'cause I'm not ten, I'm unautomatically not cool? Ross has only been ten for three months! What is with these boys? They're my only friends. I can't just let them go. Mom and Dad are gonna start asking questions soon..._

Charlie sat up on his bed, wrapping his arms around his legs and gazing out his window. Despite being nothing but inky blackness before him, Charlie could distinctly pick out the outline of the mountains in the distance with a blanket of stars extending towards it. He gnawed on his lip as he lowered his chin to his knees.

_I guess I just don't get it. Maybe me being nine really is a big difference. Maybe I don't get it 'cause I'm not ten. But... I don't wanna turn ten if it means looking gruff, sounding gruffer, and being... I don't even know. They're like bullies, but... is that just what happens after you turn ten? _Charlie blinked rapidly for a moment, fixating his eyes on the large moon sailing overhead, _Come to think of it, every boy at school who wants lunch money and likes throwing books on the roof are older. There's not a single nine year old out there swiping coins and hurling books. What gives?_

Charlie laid down on his side now, facing the wall, as he stewed deep inside his mind, _Dad keeps askin' me what I want to do in the future... and Mom keeps trying to bait me into talking about my feelings... Did Ross and Ivan have to do this, too? Is this part of turning ten? What if I'm magically expected to just have all of it figured out?_

Charlie sighed, closing his eyes, _I'm dead meat._

Just then, his bedroom door creaked open and he heard the familar thud of his father's cane to the hardwood floor, "Charlie, are you awake?" Charlie peaked over his shoulder to see his dad in just a t-shirt and black slacks, "Hey, bud. You've been in your room since dinner. Is everything alright?" Charlie propped himself up on his elbow and watched his father slowly inch himself around the model trail scene he was still building. Jack lowered himself onto Charlie's bed, pleased to see his son dressed for bed on time.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Charlie shrugged, sinking back into his pillows, "I'm just tired."

"Do you feel alright?" Jack asked, already pressing his hand to Charlie's forehead.

"Yes," Charlie pulled away at the touch, "I'm just tired. I took a bike ride to the mountain overpass today."

"Wow, that's a long ride," Jack said with arched eyebrows, "Have you taken anymore time to consider the art camp or engineering club?"

"No," Charlie muttered, turning his eyes towards the window, "'cause I don't wanna go."

Jack stared at the side of his frustrated son's face for a moment before he licked his lips, "Would you tell your mother or I if something was wrong?"

"Yeah, but nothin' is wrong," Charlie shot back, rather defensively.

"You're not really convincing me, bud," Jack told him gently, "We're just worried, that's all. We haven't seen you with any of your friends this summer."

"It's just hot outside," Charlie shrugged.

"Too hot for who?" Jack asked, "You just told me you rode nine miles on your bike today."

"I dunno, Dad, really," Charlie was growing exasperated.

"Well," Jack said, stretching his arms to rest on either side of Charlie, "I just want to remind you that your mother and I love you very much. And we're here for you. We just want you to be honest with us, alright?"

"Even if being honest will get me in trouble?" Charlie turned his green eyes on his father.

"Charlie," Jack whispered, his face hovering only inches away from his son's, "being honest is always the right thing to do. Even if it gets you in trouble."

There was an extended silence.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Charlie?"

Charlie stared at his father for what felt like a really long time. It felt like he had a barrage of sentences banging at his lips, begging to be let out. But he held his tongue. He kept everything tucked away down his throat as his last ditch effort to remain friends with Ivan and Ross, to possibly get an in with Lawrence. He said nothing to his father and, instead, shook his head.

Jack looked rather disappointed for a moment but quickly wiped it off his face. Gently, he combed his hand through Charlie's messy hair, "Good night, Charlie. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Dad," Charlie called, pulling himself beneath his quilts. Jack weaved back through the landmine of train toys and flicked the light off in the bedroom. The sounds of the cicadas coming through the windows made Jack look back once more at the figure of his son laying in bed. He sighed and closed the door behind him.

...

When Charlie opened his eyes again, he felt rather groggy. He realized the moon was in a different spot in the sky. He rubbed furiously at his face and propped himself up on his elbow, flicking his gas lamp on. He reached for his alarm clock to see it was a quarter past eleven. Charlie sat up on his knees and looked out the window. There were a few low hanging clouds sailing through the sky. There had obviously been a quick summer shower as the grass was dewey and the dirt looked mushy. Charlie pressed his forehead against the cool glass of his window, _What do I do?_

Charlie looked around his room. The gas lamp cast long shadows across his walls. Charlie gnawed on his lip again, a familiar habit that was beginning to crop up multiple times a day. Quickly, Charlie dressed in an olive green button up with khaki pants and hurriedly laced his boots. He eased his gas lamp down until the flame shuddered out, plunging his bedroom in darkness. He climbed up onto his window sill and peered out to see the roof not far below. He knew there was a garden trellis for decoration just around the corner at the front porch. It was sturdy enough to support him. Charlie looked back towards his dark room just one more time. There was no going back, he told himself.

He pushed himself off the side of his sill and he landed with a thud on the roof. Charlie held himself in place for a moment, half-expecting his parents to hear, but nothing stirred and only the sounds of the night responded to him. Carefully, Charlie held his arms out as he walked along the edge of the roof, telling himself to not look at the far drop. He made it to the trellis and hurriedly climbed down. His heart was hammering in his chest as he snuck through the shadows of the front yard. He untangled Valentina's bike from his and hopped on, rolling towards the fence encasing their yard. Charlie reached over his handlebars and unlatched the gate, but an unlucky gust of wind swept it from his hands and it beat against the fence loudly. Charlie hunched his shoulders and cautiously looked over his shoulders. After a few moments, he suspected he was clear and rolled his bike out, quietly closing the gate behind him.

Charlie set out on his bike, which crunched through the dirt street of his neighborhood. He glanced around him at the desserted roads. He had never been out so late by himself. It was almost eerie with the creaking of tree branches and the looming mountains in the distance. He rode silently, looking at dark shops he would frequent during the day. As he rode past the train station, he was relieved to some light cast onto the street. He saw a few night time employees wandering about and some travellers waiting or sleeping on benches. As Charlie rode deeper into Miles City and drew closer to the park, his heart rate began to pick up again. He recalled his conversation with Ivan from only days before, but Charlie was convinced he had to take matters into his own hands.

As he rode his bike beneath the iron wrought archway of the park, he felt a chill come over him. The park was so dark and forbading in the middle of the night. The trees looked so welcoming for climbing in the daylight, but at night, they only cast long shadows and obstructed his line of view. Charlie told himself he couldn't be scared. It would prove to the ten year olds that nine year olds were cowards. Charlie approached the crest in the hill that lead to an enbankment along the river. He came to a halt, planting his feet on either side of his bike. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the narrow and shallow freshwater river. For a moment, he began to wonder if he was too late, and wanted to smirk at the idea that he was out past bedtime. But after a moment, he spotted some dark figures crowded along the river where there were large rocks and an oak tree that hung over the river. It was the prime spot for swimming.

Charlie chose not to ride his bike down the hill. He got off on the side and slowly wheeled it. As he got closer, he began to hear the muffled sounds of boys laughing and sneering at each other. Charlie accidentally kicked a rock that began bouncing down the hill, ricocheting off tree trunks. The voices immediately hushed.

"Who's there?" Came from the darkness.

Charlie nearly audibly gulped. He gripped his handlebars tightly, "It's Charlie Dawson."

There was a muttering between the boys, "Charlie who?", "Do you know a Charlie Dawson?"

From the darkness, he saw their figures coming closely. Just about all of them, save one or two, were taller than him. They were all wearing heavy army coats, some too big, as if they inherited them from their father's. It was amazing to Charlie what only a two to three year age gap created. He felt so small and meek. His knees nearly bonked together as they entered the moonlight, but he paused and gawked, when he saw Ivan at the front of the group.

"Charlie, what're you doin' here?" Ivan asked, "I told you to stay away."

"Well, I thought I would've heard from you by now," Charlie told him. Beside Ivan, Charlie spied Ross. He didn't look very pleased to see Charlie. On the other side of Ivan was the tallest boy of them all that had shaggy dark brown hair with freckles speckling his face. To Charlie's surprise, he even had a gold earring in one ear. Charlie had never seen a boy with earrings.

"Whose this, Ivan?" The dark haired boy asked, nodding his head towards Charlie.

"Just a boy we go to school with," Ivan said, looking at him.

"What are you talking about?" Charlie nearly sneered, "You and Ross have been my best friend's since before school!"

"Oh, is that true?"

"No, Lawrence," Ross now said, exasperated, "He wishes."

"Charlie, go home," Ivan said, stepping towards him, "The boys around here don't take too kindly to nine year olds on bikes pokin' around."

"I may be nine but I'm not any different than you guys," Charlie said, looking up at Ivan.

"Really now?" Lawrence wandered forward, his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk on his face irritated Charlie to no end, "Then what'd you bring us?"

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"If you think you're cool enough to hang out with us, then you have to give us an offering," Lawrence said, "Don't tell me you forgot the cardinal rule."

"How can I know the rules if no one tells me?"

"See, you just don't get it, Charlie," Ivan scoffed, shaking his head.

"Why would we want someone like _you _hangin' around?" Lawrence asked pointedly, "You got a nice _Schwinn _bicycle there. Tells me your parents are made of money. And aren't you the boy with that negro sister?"

"Don't talk about her like that," Charlie said, looking to Lawrence.

"Oh-hoo-hoo," Lawrence grinned, "Fiesty little one."

"Charlie, really, just get out of here," Ivan warned.

"No," Charlie shot back, "I'm not going to stand here and let you guys decide what goes. Nobody made you king. I want to have fun this summer and I know you guys know how to do that. Me being younger doesn't change anything one bit. We're all the same."

"Well, without an offering, we can't give you a fair judgement," Lawrence shrugged, as if it was the very law that he was expected to uphold.

"Your rules are stupid," Charlie said.

"You know," Lawrence smirked, chuckling lowly, "I kinda like you. But rules are rules, boys. You know what to do."

In the next moment, Ivan lunged forward, grabbing hold of Charlie's arms. Ross quickly grabbed his bicycles and threw it to the side. Two boys began bending the rims of his wheels. Ivan wrangled Charlie's arms behind his back and despite his best squriming, he was unable to wrangle himself free.

"Let go of me!" Charlie shouted, bucking back and forth in Ivan's firm grip.

"Hold still," Lawrence said, grabbing Charlie by his hair and directing him to look up, "You'll just make it hurt more."

The next thing Charlie saw was Lawrence rearing his fist back to ram into his face.

...

The dimly lit streets of Miles City were quiet. The moon came to hang directly overhead as the clock struck ten past midnight. The only thing to be heard over the nightly orchestra was the creaking of steel as Charlie pushed his bike down the road. It wobbled violently beside him, the rims bent so badly, it wasn't rideable. His right eye was beginning to swell a deep shade of purple. His lip was busted. Blood was crusted around his nose. His left cheekbone was bruised and tender. His clothes were ruined, his collar torn and exposing his white undershirt. There was a rip in the knee of his trousers. Charlie felt lower than low. He felt utterly betrayed. Ivan and Ross had _helped _beat him up. They _helped _him to look foolish, lame, and cowardly. Charlie paused for a moment, spitting some blood out of his mouth onto the path beside him.

Charlie let out a sigh and continued, with effort, to push his bike home. He was upset with what had happened. He felt as if he was a publicly humiliated. And Charlie was beyond devastated by about his _Schwinn. _He looked to his bicycle in the milky moonlight, his heart hearting with each creak it made as he forced it to limp back home. He turned onto his neighborhood road and sighed. His parents would freak out in the morning when they saw him, he knew it. He had to come up with an excuse. He knew he would be up all night coming up with a million and one wild tales as to why his face was black and blue.

As he pushed the gate open to his front yard, however, he realized he would have to think of something sooner when he spied his mother in her robe standing in the porch light, bugs flitting above her bed-head. She had her arms crossed over her chest, a rather stern look on her face. She began down the stairs in her barefeet and came to meet Charlie half-way in the yard. Rose already had an entire speech prepared, one that she had spent the past forty-five minutes on since she discovered Charlie's room was empty. But that all disappeared when she saw his bike and her son's busted up face. Rose gasped sharply and knelt in front of Charlie, gripping his shoulders.

"Charlie!" She exclaimed, "What happened?"

"Uh..." Charlie looked towards his bike for a moment. He licked his lips, which stung from the cuts he had received, "I had a bike accident."

Rose got back to her feet and took Charlie's bike into her hands. She inspected the damage to the front and then leaned back to take a look at the rear tire, "How did the wheels manage to _both _get damaged like this?"

She looked back towards her son who sheepishly shrugged, "I dunno. I fell pretty hard."

Rose leaned Charlie's bike up against the railing of the porch and took him by his hand. The front foyer light was on, but otherwise, the house was dark and quiet. Rose lead Charlie towards the small bathroom around the corner that was tucked beneath the staircase. Rose seated Charlie on the lid of the toilet and reached behind the mirror for some cotton balls, band-aids, and cleaning alcohol. She glanced towards her brooding son as she dampened a cotton ball. She knelt down in front of him, gently dabbing at the scrapes along his jaw and forehead.

"Why did you leave?" Rose asked softly, blowing some cool air on Charlie's stinging wounds, "You know that's not allowed, Charlie. When we tuck you into bed at night, we expect you to stay there."

"I couldn't sleep," Charlie said, keeping his eyes trained downward. A nasty headache was beginning to set in on him. He wanted nothing more in that moment than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Rose lowered the cotton ball for a moment and stared intently at her son, "What really happened, Charlie? I don't think you had a bicycle accident. I think something else happened."

"Nothin' happened," Charlie told his mother, "I went for a bike road, it was dark, and I hit a rock in the road or somethin'. I dunno. It happened really fast."

Rose sighed and peeled a band-aid out from its packaging. Tenderly she angled it just above Charlie's right eyebrow, "Charles Jack..."

"Mom, really," Charlie insisted, wiggling beneath her hands as she worked on disinfecting his other cuts and wiping the dried blood away.

"You act like I was born yesterday," Rose told him, lowering her cleaning equipment, "I know the difference between falling flat on your face and when someone punches you. Where have you been, Charlie?"

"Nowhere," Charlie shook his head, "Can we just drop it, please?"

Rose sighed and combed her son's hair from his face. She could see he was frustrated and embarassed. She wanted nothing more than to take all those feelings away from him so he could go back to being his carefree and curious self.

"I want you to talk to me," Rose said, almost pleading the young boy to open up to her, "I want you to let me into your world, Charlie. What happened to you being unafraid to tell me anything? I want that boy back, Charlie," Her slender fingers grazed over his swollen cheekbone, making him wince, "What's going on? Does this have something to do with your friends? Is this about a girl?"

"No," Charlie shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it, Mom. I just wanna go to bed and forget this whole night ever happened."

In the next moment, he pulled himself down from his seat and brushed past his mother. She heard the thud of his boots to the stairs above her and then the creak of his door as he closed it. Rose sighed, pressing a hand to her a temple, her eyes scanning over the litter of bloodied cotton balls on the floor before her. What was she going to do?

...

The cicadas were beginning to quiet down as the darkness of dawn began to set in. Rose hadn't been able to fall back asleep after Charlie had returned. Both she and Jack laid side by side in bed, their hands clasped together. Rose squeezed Jack's hand tightly, her mind stewing, and her stomach tossing. The faintest inklings of the inky sky turning into a light blue began to make it's way through a sliver in their curtains. Jack shifted his head to look towards Rose, who was wrought in worries. He knew she was running every horrible scenario through her mind, torturing herself.

"Do you want to talk out loud?" Jack asked quietly, making her turn her head towards him, "It might help you organize your thoughts."

Rose shook her head and sighed, looking back towards the ceiling. The only comfort she had at the moment was the feeling of Jack's calloused hand encasing her's, "I don't even know what to think, Jack. I'm so confused and... _scared. _What kind of mother am I? Both of my children seem so unhappy."

"You're not a bad mother," Jack assured her, lifting her knuckles to his lips. Tenderly, he planted kisses along them, "This is just a normal part of growing up," Jack turned on his side to face Rose and she copied, their faces hovering only inches apart on their pillows.

"But what can we can do to ease the transition?" Rose asked, gripping his hand closely to her, "We have to be able to show them in good practice what a healthy adult life looks like."

"They're nine and eleven years old," Jack reminded her, "They got time. Right now they're just taking their new lifestyles for a spin. It's a phase that I'm confident they will outgrow."

"I hope you're right," Rose whispered, letting another sigh out, "I just want to take away all their uncertainity and frustration and discontent. I want them to be kids, Jack, and enjoy it. I would never forgive myself if I allowed Valentina and Charlie to be miserable like I was when I was their age."

"Well, you definitely don't have to worry about that," Jack told her, scooting closer so their bodies could touch. He covered her hand in kisses again, "They have the greatest mother in the whole wide world. Just give them some time. We can do this. I know we can."

Jack pulled Rose into his arms and he ran his fingers through her curly red hair. He pressed his cheek to her head, doing his best to hold her tight in hopes that she could squeeze a few hours of sleep in before she had to wake up for the day. He glanced fleetingly towards the window to see the sun making more of an appearance across the sky. He sighed and closed his eyes, resigned to brainstorming what he could do for his children.


	6. It Takes a Village

Chapter Six

_June 13th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

That morning at the office was stifling hot, even with all the doors and windows propped open. It easily made Jack hate the summer season the most, the opposite of how he had felt in his youth or even a decade ago. Jack's day was booked with training Eleanor, who showed up on time, dressed well, and with a nervous smile on her face. It started with giving Eleanor her own desk that sat just outside Jack's office, who she would primarily be working for. She was estatic to have her own personal work space. Apparently she had shared at her previous office. He then got her set up with all the office equipment she would need and even found her a typewriter that had been forgotten in a storage closet. Eleanor was eager to jump into learning the ropes and listened to every word that Jack said with great care.

He first went over their tedious file system. As he approved things, he instructed her to place them into another folder for the journalists to pick up to tweak in some extra language and find any spelling errors that escaped the first journalist and eluded Jack. Any article he denied, he showed her the separate folder that the journalists would use to correct errors or determine what was wrong with the piece. Jack gave her a tour of the office and Eleanor couldn't help but marvel at how charismatic and thoughful Jack was, who was doing his best to not make the learning process one big chore. Eleanor found herself magnetically attracted towards Jack, whose hospitality had her giddy. She hadn't felt so light around a man since her husband Benjamin had died. Eleanor did her best, however, to brush all of that aside and focus on her new career that would support her small family.

As the morning of training dwindled into the early afternoon, Eleanor and Jack found themselves in the empty break room, making the cups of coffee they had forgotten to that morning. They knew they would need it as the hot afternoon waned on. Jack seated himself at one of the tables and let out a long sigh, rubbing at his sore knee. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced towards Eleanor, who was putting the most sugar he had ever seen into her coffee. He had been married to a woman who preferred straight black coffee for a decade. As Jack gazed towards Eleanor, his mind drifted towards Charlie in that moment. His son's bruising and swelling had gone down, but his battle scars still remained on his face and in the metal of his bicycle.

Jack cleared his throat, drawing Eleanor's attention over her shoulder, "Hey, can I ask you something? It's not work related... it's actually kind of personal."

Eleanor grinned and seated herself across from Jack, still stirring her coffee, "Sure."

"I was just wondering if maybe you had heard anything from Ivan about what's going on with the friend group," Jack told her and slowly, he watched her smile recede, "Charlie hasn't been hanging out with them recently... and well, he actually came home with a wrecked bike and lots of bruises and scratches the other night. I was just curious if you knew anything," Eleanor was quiet for a few moments and lowered her eyes to her mug, "If you know anything, it will help," Jack continued, "Charlie has just been so anxious and fidgety. We notice he isn't doing much this summer. I just didn't know if maybe you were having the same thing with Ivan at home?"

"You know how boys this age can be," Eleanor simply shrugged, "They're so elusive and secretive about everything. I'm sure everything will be fine. I just think as they get older, things start to change... but it's always for the better."

"Yeah... I guess you're right," Jack nodded, busying himself by drinking his coffee. In the back of his mind, he felt as if words had been left unsaid by Eleanor, but he shook that thought away. If Ivan was acting anything like Charlie, then Eleanor probably wasn't privvy to any extra information either. They continued on with their coffee break in silence.

...

The Dawson house that afternoon was quiet. Valentina had gone to practice with her jazz quartet and Rose finally had the silence and alone time she needed to work on her writing. Not only her new novel, that her agent was itching to receive, but also her weekly musings and short stories for the _Miles City Tribune _that were due by the end of the week. Rose sat stooped over her desk, ignoring the large mess that was Jack's space that inhabitated the other half of their shared office behind her. Rose took pride in her writing and felt fortunate that she could afford to do it full-time to her heart's content. Slowly, she double checked her short story for any errors, marking them furiously with a pen for the rewrite on her typewriter she would do just before the due date.

Rose got lost into her writing and had forgotten of the concept of time. When she heard the front door open downstairs, she looked up, rather confused, but saw it was already after four o'clock. She cursed under her breath. She needed to get started on dinner. Rose quickly began reshuffling all of her papers on her desk and stood, letting out a deep breath, as she walked away from her work. Just before she walked away from her desk to greet whoever came in, she heard the rustling of paper and turned around. Before a gust could claim any of her work, she placed a paperweight on top and then double checked she did that for everything. It had happened to her a few times where a forgotten open window had made a whirlwind of papers across the office.

As Rose turned back towards the door, she noticed Charlie was coming down the hallway quickly. His room was next door to the office. Rose was going to greet him, but Charlie hurried past, not even looking at her. He was holding his elbows at this side.

"Charlie?" Rose came into the hallway, "What do you have?"

Upon being closer to the boy, she could tell he had something in his shirt.

"Charles Jack," Rose warned, following him, "What is under your shirt?"

"Nothing," Charlie insisted, pushing his bedroom door open.

"If it's nothing, then show me," Rose stuck her hand out to catch his bedroom door before he could close it, "Charlie, I'm not playing games. Show me what's under your shirt."

"I don't have anything, I swear," Charlie told her. Rose lifted her hand to brush some curls from her face, her entire growing warm because of her son's erratic behaviour. When Charlie saw her hand was off the door, he quickly shut it. Rose's hand dove for the door knob, but she heard the lock flick over and she cursed under her breath for the second time that day.

"Charles Jack! You open this door right now!" Rose shouted, knocking on it ferociously, "I'm going to count to three, mister! One... two... three!" She waited rather impatiently, but the door did not make a sound, "Charlie! Open the door! Charlie!"

Rose's cheeks grew red and her heart thundered in her chest. She marched down the hallway and burst into her bedroom and to her night table. She rifled through the drawer until she found a small box where she kept all the spare keys. She inspected each one quickly, disregarding it across their made bed. Rose knew she had a spare to the children's bedroom. She had to. Rose tossed key after key onto the bed, but finally, lifted a key she recognized. Rose stormed back down the hallway and set her hands on her hips.

"Final chance. Open this door right now, Charles Jack!"

Still, Charlie did not obey. Rose ground her teeth for a moment before she jammed the key into the door. These were the moments when being a mother was awful. She never wanted to get angry with her children or invade their privacy in this manner, but when push came to shove, her inner mother bear unleashed. Rose came through the door to find Charlie hunched down near his toy hamper. He looked shocked to find out his mother had a key to his room. He suddenly felt the fear of God when he saw the fire in his mother's eyes for not complying. Hurriedly, Charlie tried using his small hands to scoop up the rather colorful things he had collected on the ground. Rose was faster, though, and appeared behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder and making him pause. She saw he had accrued some small fireworks.

"Where did you get those?" Rose asked, rather sternly. Though they weren't any kind of serious firecrackers, Charlie had a good amount of them.

"They're sellin' them down at the market for fourth of July," Charlie told her.

"I know Mr. Peters does not sell to young boys," Rose put her hands on her hips, "You remember what happened with those boys a few years ago who accidentally burned down a barn."

"Mr. Peters likes me," Charlie said, shaking his head.

"So, if I go down to Mr. Peters booth, he's going to tell me he sold you those?" Rose asked. Charlie didn't say anything, "Charlie... did you _steal _these?"

Tear immediately sprung to her son's eyes and he was drowned in a feeling of self-loathing. The tone in his mother's voice hurt him more than he realized during the rush of cramming them out of sight on his person in the market, hurriedly glancing around to confirm his stealth. Rose was absolutely bewildered. She and Jack had spent most of their parenthood worked up over teaching their children right from wrong. They had specifically told them stealing was _wrong. _Rose pressed a hand to her forehead as shock unravelled in her body.

"You stole fireworks from the market?!" Rose grabbed her son by his wrist and pulled him to his feet. Tears were streaming freely down his flustered face now, "Why? Why on earth would you do that, Charlie?" She knelt in front of him, firmly gripping the arms of the sniveling and crying young boy, "You know stealing is absolutely wrong. Why did you do it?"

Charlie rubbed furiously at his red stinging eyes, "I..." He hiccuped, "I'm jus' tryin' to make friends... This is what they like, Mom!"

"They like you to _steal _fireworks?" Rose furrowed her brow, "Charlie, these aren't friends you want to make. That is a very dangerous and slippery slope. Your friends should never ask you to do something illegal! That certainly doesn't sound like Ross or Ivan."

"I don't know what's gotten into either of them," Charlie wailed, hiccuping all the awhile. Rose's anger completely dissipated in that moment as her son began having a full of meltdown, his entire body shaking. Rose felt her own heart break, "I jus' wanna stay friends with them, Mom...!"

Rose gently combed Charlie's hair from his red face, "Is this why you haven't seen them lately?"

Charlie nodded meekly as he began to catch his breath. A few lone tears fell down his cheeks and he sniffled deeply, "They made new friends... more... mature friends," Charlie croaked, shrugging and looking to his mother with his wet eyes, "I just want to stay friends with them, Mom. They're all I got."

"But is it worth it?" Rose asked, "Look what they have you doing, Charlie. You know your father and I won't stand for this. If Ivan and Ross want to act this way, that's their personal business, but this will be a life lesson for you. You'll make new friends, Charlie. There are plenty of boys in this town that are your age who like fishing and hiking and everything else you like. Just next door, you could play with Langley Williams. Down the streets, did you forget about the twin girls your age, Vivianne and Violet? Just a street over there's William Adams and Frankie Jenkins," Rose gently wiped a few tears from Charlie's cheeks, "You're going to learn, Charlie, that people in your life will come and go. Not everyone is destined to stay, and that's okay. You'll be alright. As long as you stay true to yourself."

Charlie shifted back and forth between his feet rather meekly, "I don't even know who I'm supposed to be..."

"That's okay, too," Rose gave his arms a supportive squeeze, "We just have to take it day by day. You have to promise me now, Charlie: You will not be friends or hang out with Ross or Ivan if this is the kind of stuff they're interested in. If they even approach you and start going off about some crude boyish plan, I want you to just walk away. Please, promise me you will do that."

Charlie looked to his mother in that moment, feeling even lower than when he got beat up at the park. His stomach was knotted in anxiety. He was so upset but realized he was more upset about getting caught. Charlie was so worried about what the boys thought of him. He didn't know how to shake the feeling. He was so overwhelmed with mixtures of feelings he had never felt before. He wanted to tell his mother about his internal confliction, but he couldn't even think of the words to logically put it together for her. Charlie just assumed she wouldn't understand.

"Okay, Mom," Charlie finally said with a scratchy voice.

Rose grinned weakly and gently kissed Charlie on his forehead through his bangs. Again, she wiped away his tears, "I promise to you that everything will be alright. You'll see."

...

Jack appeared outside of the fence of their yard just a quarter past six. The sky was a bright orange as the sun made preparations to sink behind the mountains. He had made a stop at the post office and was sifting through the mail as he blindly unlocked the gate and let himself in. He closed it behind him, still fixated on looking through the envelopes, but paused, when he heard a clanging noise. Jack looked up to see his son sitting criss cross in the yard. His mangled bike was lying on its side in front of him and he was using a rubber mallet to bang at the wheels in hopes of making it go back to where it was. Jack tucked the mail under his arm and approached his son.

"Hey, bud," Jack greeted, "How're the repairs coming?"

"Slow," Charlie muttered, rearing the mallet back again to whap the bike. He paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder at his father, "Can't you just buy me a new bike?"

"No, sorry, that's not how it works," Jack shook his head, "That was already an expensive bike. These are the consequences of going out after bed time. I'm sure with a little more determination, you'll get those wheels back to riding condition."

Charlie heaved a sigh upon being told this and silently returned to his task. Jack watched for a moment more before he went up the stairs of the porch and into the house. Valentina was practicing that song that every Dawson had had stuck in their head since it appeared in the mail in May. He tossed the mail onto the entryway table and went towards the kitchen where he could smell something good wafting out of.

When he entered the kitchen, he found Rose at the stove stirring a large pot. It was a beef stew with many vegetables bobbing in it. It smelled heavenly enticing to Jack, who was rather hungry from skipping lunch. Sometimes it was just too hot to even think about eating. That's what Jack loved the most about coming home to a cool house that smelled good. But what he loved even more was seeing the beloved face of Rose. However, she looked rather lost in thought when he came in. They pecked each other on the lips as Jack seated himself at the island.

"Is Charlie still out front?" Rose asked, barely looking over her shoulder from the bubbling stew.

"Yeah," Jack nodded, placing his elbows on the table and sighing as he was finally off his feet for the evening, "I don't know how much luck he will have getting those wheels straight again. They're pretty janky. But I'm off tomorrow, so I figured we could do a little father-son bonding over fixing it together."

Rose set her stirring spoon down on a napkin and sighed while turning towards Jack. She combed her hair from the frame of her face and looked at her husband, "There's something else I need you to address, too."

"What's that?" Jack asked.

"Charlie stole fireworks from Mr. Peters' booth at the market today."

"He did what?!" Jack cried, coming to his feet again.

"No, no, calm down," Rose brought her hands up, "I've talked with him about it for the day. Let's give him a night to sleep on it. I'm concerned, though. This is apparently about Ivan and Ross who have made new friends and Charlie's just trying to fit in with them."

"Dammit..." Jack muttered as he lowered himself back into the barstool, "I knew Eleanor wasn't being truthful with me. I just knew it. She knows something is going on and she won't tell me."

"You asked her?" Rose arched her eyebrows. She returned to the stew, giving it another stir, "Jack, no one wants to admit their kid is hanging out with a bad crowd or is a bully."

"Do you think Ivan and Ross had something to do with Charlie and his bike?"

Rose pondered the question for a moment before she shrugged. She hauled the pot off the stove and set it in the center of the dinner table, "I'm not sure. It's not like Charlie would ever tell us, anyway," Rose pressed her hand into Jack's shoulder and sighed, leaning her body against his sturdy one, "One day at a time... we'll get through to him eventually. I'm going to get the children for dinner."

Jack watched as his wife briskly left the kitchen. He set his head in his hand and bobbed his good knee, lost in though over what to do with his children.


	7. Would You Do It Again?

Chapter Seven

_June 14th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The next morning felt rather nice. There was a cool breeze rushing through the streets with slow moving clouds offering cover from the piercing sunlight from above. Rose had all the windows open that morning. Since nobody had to rush off to work or school, Rose made everyone french toast. She noticed Valentina was moving rather sluggishly that morning. After breakfast had been enjoyed and cleaned up, Rose ventured upstairs to find Valentina while Jack and Charlie migrated towards the front yard to stoop over his poor _Schwinn _bicycle.

Valentina's door was slightly ajar. Rose slowly leaned into the room to see Valentina at her desk with her back to the door. She was hunched over, writing slowly while holding her head in her hand. Rose observed her daughter for a moment before she knocked on the door to rouse Valentina's attention. She looked over her shoulder with her tired eyes at her mother.

"Hey, Momma," Valentina said softly before returning to scribbling in her journal. Rose came to stand behind Valentina to see she was copying a few sentences down about a war that happened in ancient Rome. Even when tired, Valentina's penmanship was not lacking. Rose tenderly lowered her hands to Valentina's shoulders.

"Hey, you," Rose said gently, "I noticed you weren't looking too hot at breakfast this morning."

"I feel fine," Valentina replied without looking up from taking her notes.

"You were gone yesterday for much longer than you said you would be," Rose pointed out.

"Melody, Oliver, and I stayed for a second jazz performance," Valentina recalled, lifting her eyes from her desk now. She looked out the window at the beautiful day, "We just felt so inspired afterwards we had to practice."

"Well, I think you're worn out," Rose told her, "You didn't say a single thing during breakfast this morning."

Valentina meerly shrugged at this. When she did, Rose's hand brushed against Valentina's neck, and her mother realized she was rather warm. Rose furrowed her brow and again pressed her hand to Valentina's neck. Then her cheeks. Then her forehead. Her forehead to Rose felt too hot for comfort. Rose went to the bathroom and returned with a glass thermometer.

"Open up, please," Rose said, giving it a good shake.

"Aw, Momma, come on," Valentina sighed, "I'm not sick. I'm just tired, like you said."

"No, ma'am," Rose shook her head, "I want you to put this in your mouth."

Valentina let out a huff and slumped her shoulders as she complied for her mother. The glass thermometer was situated beneath her tongue and she set her head in her hand again. She did have a throbbing headache behind her eyes, but she just assumed it was because she hadn't slept very well last night. She had tossed and turned for a good majority of the night, flashing between hot and cold. But Valentina was convinced she was simply exhausted. After what felt like forever, Rose finally took the thermometer from her mouth, holding it up towards the sunlight. She clucked her tongue.

"Valentina, your temperature is just over a hundred degrees!" Rose shook her head, "I knew it. You've been over exerting yourself. Change into your jammies and get into bed. I'll get you a cool rag."

"Momma, I can't just sit in bed all day!" Valentina protested, perking up in her chair, "The audition is coming up in two weeks, I need to practice. And... and this essay is due for presentation at the library by the end of the week. I don't have _time _to just lay in bed."

"Well, today you're going to make time," Rose told her, "Go on now. Get out of your day clothes. I'll bring you some tea and lemon with some cold water and aspirin powder. Get moving, young lady."

Valentina let out another huff as she pulled herself down from her chair and went to do as her mother asked. Rose went downstairs and was pleased she had the foresight to put the kettle on the stove top. Rose collected a tray and was pleased the tea was warm. She poured Valentina one cup of warm tea and placed two lemon wedges on the tray. She then poured her a glass of water and arranged some buttered crackers on a plate. She dipped a wash cloth into the sink of cool water. When she returned to Valentina's bedroom, she had changed into her nightgown and some stockings, but was back at her desk. Rose cleared her throat to gain her attention. Valentina drooped when she saw her mother and slowly, she climbed into bed. Rose set the tray on her night table.

"Please, baby, stay in bed," Rose said gently, running her hand along Valentina's warm cheek, "I want you to feel better and the only way you can do that is by resting. Please, Tina. I'll bring you some books. Were there any specifically that you wanted?"

Valentina sunk back into her pillows and pulled the quilt up over her legs. Rose fluffed the bedding and handed her daughter a cup of warm tea. Valentina took a sip and looked to her mother, "Can I have one of the Doctor Dolittle books?"

Rose grinned, running her hand along one of Valentina's braided plaits, "Of course, my love."

...

Just out in the front yard, several tools, nuts, and bolts, plus Jack's cane, were splayed in the grass around the two Dawson boys. Jack had showed Charlie how to remove the wheels from his bike and the _Schwinn _frame now lay lonesomely to the side, begging Charlie to ride it. Charlie watched as his father brought the rubber mallet down with ease, slowly working along the rim without touching the spokes. The exact opposite of how Charlie had gone about it last evening. Charlie boredly blew his bangs from his brow and lifted the other tire up in front of his face. His arm span was barely large enough to hold the tire on either side. Charlie hadn't realized how big the tires really were until his father had unscrewed them from the frame. Charlie set the tire back down and dug his elbows into his knees, pressing his head to his hands. He watched his father because there was nothing else to do. Jack glanced to his son fleetingly before lowering his eyes back to his task.

"So, your mother told me about the little tiff you had with her yesterday," Jack said.

Charlie felt every muscle in his body tense.

"Want to tell me what that was about?" Jack asked, looking to Charlie through his bangs.

"I've learned my lesson, Dad," Charlie told him.

"Oh, really?" Jack paused from whacking the bike with his mallet, "So, your mother set you straight? No more stealing? Not even _thinking _about it, right?"

"Nope, I won't do it again," Charlie shook his head. All he wanted was for his father to drop the subject entirely. Charlie didn't want to think about it or relive those few moments of him stuffing the stolen goods in his pockets and down his tucked in shirt. He wasn't sure he had actually learned a lesson, but rather, had learned a better system to not getting caught. His father smiled at him, however, and Charlie almost felt bad.

"Well, good," Jack said, returning to working on the bicycle wheel, "I'm glad your mother taught you something, Charlie. It was a one-time mistake. It doesn't define who you are," Jack paused again, pointing the rubber mallet at Charlie, "But if it does continue, then it will start to show people what your true character is, even if you never steal from them."

"It was stupid," Charlie agreed.

Jack was pleased by the words his son was speaking and returned to trying to fix his bicycle. The metal was slowly bending back to where it was originally intended, but they still had a lot of work cut out for them. Jack sighed and glanced towards the lonely bike frame.

"Hey," Jack said, drawing Charlie away from the grass blades he was toying with, "why don't we head on down to the bicycle shop and see what kind of cheap used tires and spokes they have for your bike. I don't think we'll ever get these back to a true circle."

Charlie's eyes lit up at the mention of the bicycle shop and he eagerly agreed, hopping to his feet and delivering his father's cane to him. He loved the bicycle shop. Deviously, he thought if he flashed his father big enough pouty eyes, he could get an entire new bicycle!

...

The afternoon for Rose was not very productive. She was constantly back and forth between her writing desk and Valentina's room. Most of time she went into Valentina's room, the girl would be up doing something. Organizing notes at her desk, suddenly feeling the need to rearrange her bookshelf, digging through a pile of sheet music, and attempting to quietly practice her trumpet. Rose was growing exasperated and almost desperate. On the eighth time Rose caught Valentina out of her bed, she immediately tucked her back in and laid beside her, cradling the warm girl's head to her chest. Gently, Rose combed her slender fingers through Valentina's tight voluminous curls that she had allowed free. Rose loved those curls, but Valentina insisted on containing it.

"Why won't you rest?" Rose asked in a whisper, still running her fingers through Valentina's hair, "You need it, Valentina, more than anybody in this entire household."

"I just don't have time for this," Valentina sighed, closing her eyes. Her head ached awfully but she so desperately wanted to refuse to give in.

"Tina, you're eleven years old. You have all the time in the world," Rose told her, "Why do you think you have to work this hard? You're already as bright and lovable as can be."

Valentina pulled away from her mother, sinking into the other half of her pillow, "Momma, not this again, please. I've told you so many times, I'm running out of ways to explain it. I don't do too much. I don't think that one bit."

"So, you like this lifestyle?" Rose asked, "You hardly have time to sit for an entire meal, you're never home anymore just to be home... I'm worried you're always running yourself at full speed. Life isn't just about getting things done and moving onto the next, Valentina. Sometimes you need to stop, observe, and appreciate. Life is all about the journey, but don't you want to remember the flowers that grew along the path you took?"

"I want this," Valentina answered simply.

Rose opened her mouth to respond but no words came out, so she slowly sealed her lips. She looked to her daughter, whose face was only a few inches away. Her honey brown eyes were tired and red rimmed. Her skin was somewhat sticky. Rose ached so horribly for her on the inside. After a few beats, Rose finally reached out and carressed Valentina's cheek, making her eyelashes flutter.

"Okay, baby," Rose whispered, nodding ratherly stiffly. She was doing everything she could to hold back her tears. Her daughter's unhealthy habits were beginning to bother her more than she anticipated, "Please, at least try to take a nap for me."

Valentina could see the shimmer in her mother's light green eyes. She knew she was hurt. Valentina pursed her lips for a moment and nodded, "Okay, Momma."

Rose leaned across the pillow and tenderly laid a kiss on Valentina's hot forehead. She stared at her a moment longer before she slowly got off the bed and left the room, closing the door behind her. Valentina stared after her for a while before she let out a long sigh and settled into bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself, if only for a moment, to have her mind be silent.

...

"There," Jack said, leaning against his cane, "Practically good as new."

Charlie inspected his bike with the mismatching tires he and his father had managed to salvage. The project ultimately ended up taking all day. Jack didn't mean to use the entire afternoon wrenching on Charlie's bike, but he felt the time was well spent with Charlie and he felt as if he had been able to distract Charlie from life, if only for a little while.

"They're not as nice..." Charlie shrugged sheepishly, "But it rolls, so that's what matters."

Jack grinned crookedly and pat his hand to Charlie's back, "You still got the frame. People pay a lot of money for that _Schwinn _badge, y'know."

"Yeah, Ethan was tellin' me last summer he was jealous," Charlie grinned deviously.

Jack almost laughed recalling his brother's family. The New Orleans Dawson's tried to visit at least once a year. Mark and Addie were still proudly raising Ashley, Ethan, and Ella in the heart of Jazzy ol' New Orleans. The riverboat gambling lifestyle always brought a wholesome spark to the Montana Dawson's household when they visited. Valentina and Charlie thought their Uncle Mark was a riot and Aunt Addie was a hoot. Jack glanced to Charlie for a moment, _Maybe havin' his cousin here will help..._

"Well, I'm gonna go for a ride," Charlie said, darting from his dad's side. He approached his bike and kicked the stand out, "I'll see you later- oh, and thanks, Dad."

"Whoa, whoa, you're leavin'?" Jack stepped in Charlie's path, "The sun's about to go down, Charlie. Besides, your mom is probably working on dinner and Valentina is sick, so why don't you pay her some company this evening?"

"But-"

"I'm not asking," Jack told him, "I'm telling you that you're in for the night. Put your bike away and let's go inside and wash our hands."

Charlie's shoulders drooped in his typical melodramatic way, "Alright..."

...

_It was very dark. Valentina could only hear the shifting of wooden chairs, a quiet cough from what seemed like a large room. Valentina's breathing was shallow as she realized she was sitting in a creaky wooden chair. Her eyes darted back and forth as her eyes adjusted to see the outlines of many figures sitting around her in the shape of a crescent moon. A large groan resounded across the large room with vaulted ceilings and suddenly, Valentina was blinded by bright stage lights._

_ She squinted, holding her hand up for a moment as her eyes adjusted. She blinked rapidly and looked down at her lap to see her trumpet sitting there, gleaming in the bright lights. Valentina then realized a music stand was before her and everyone sitting around her was her orchestra. She nearly gulped audibly as the audience clapped. Valentina looked towards the conductor, recognizing it as Mr. Dewhurst, who directed the Miles City Junior Orchestra each year. Valentina looked to her left to see a trombone player beside her. When she looked to her right, it was a trumpet player. Valentina began shaking in her seat with a thundering heart as she realized she was sitting in the trumpet section's first chair position._

_ Valentina looked out towards the sea of an audience. Their faces were so dark, she couldn't make any of them out. Longingly, she searched for her parents, but she couldn't find them. Looking amongst the other musicians on the stage only brought her a deeper lonesomeness. Not a single face she recognized. Only Mr. Dewhurst. She had been so low in chairs, however, the man didn't even know her name or pay her much attention. She wasn't playing solos or harmonies. She was nothing but a rhythmic trumpeteer._

_ Mr. Dewhurst tapped his wand to his stand. Valentina's head darted towards him and that's when she realized his eyes were on her. He was looking to her expectantly, his arms lifted in his readied position. Valentina gawked at him for a moment before she lowered her eyes to the sheet music in front of her. The title was in a language she had never seen before. She blinked rapidly, trying to will her brain to translate it, but it was useless. She simply couldn't read it. Valentina decided to move on from the title to the sheet music and saw a trumpet solo started the song. Valentina wanted to faint, but she didn't. She remained upright in the chair. Mr. Dewhurst impatiently tapped his wand again, clearing his throat and arching his eyebrows at her expectantly._

_ Valentina let out a shaky breath and scanned over the first two measures. She nodded to herself. Her palms grew sweaty as she lifted her glinting brassy instrument and made direct eye contact with Mr. Dewhurst. He counted her off with a motion and her trumpet rang out. After the first measure had passed, however, Valentina realized she was completely out of key. No matter how hard she focused, her fingers were missing the notes and she sounded absolutely awful. She paused for a moment, her entire body wracked in shakes. Mr. Dewhurst looked furious but motioned for her to start again. Valentina gave her head shake and started again, focusing intently on the notes. But still, she played it all wrong. It was as if she couldn't read music, had never been properly trained to play a trumpet._

_ Boo's began ranging out throughout the auditorium and Mr. Dewhurst motioned for her to stop. His cheeks had grown red and he looked furious. Not only was the audience booing, but the musicians surrounding Valentina were, too, and some even chucked crumpled up sheet music at her. Valentina dropped her trumpet to the ground without caring if the bell got dented. She pressed her hands to her face as a sob ripped up her throat, public humiliation drowning through her body._

_..._

Valentina jolted upwards in bed, a sharp gasp escaping her throat. She was so sweaty, her cotton nightgown sticking uncomfortably to her. She was breathing heavily, her shoulders falling up and down. Suddenly, though, she felt the comforting calloused hands of her father, who gently eased her back down against her pillows. He had been sitting beside her, dabbing her with a cool wash cloth. Valentina saw juice and water waiting for her on the night table, along with aspirin powder and a thermometer. Her window had orange sunlight bleeding through it as the sun set. She had been asleep for hours.

"It's alright, Tina..." Jack said softly, "Let me take your temperature."

Valentina's heart was still racing wildly in her chest as she allowed her temperature to be taken. When Jack looked at it, he wasn't pleased, but he didn't say anything. He shook the thermometer out and mixed the aspirin powder into the water, handing it to her.

"Bad dream?" He asked as she accepted the water and drank it quickly.

"Daddy, can I ask you something?" Valentina looked to him with her tired eyes. She put her glass back on the night table and sunk into her pillows. She felt rather chilly suddenly and Jack pulled the quilt up to her shoulders.

"Of course, Tina," Jack grinned, resting his elbows on the bed beside her.

Valentina pursed her lips for a moment and looked at her father, whose eyes were full of adoration for her. It took her a few seconds to find her voice, "If it was 1912 again... and you were in Texas again... would you make the choice to take me with you again?"

Jack was taken aback by the question. He sat up straight at her bedside. His voice almost faltered, "Of course, Valentina," He told her, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze, "I would do it again and again again. You're so important to your mother and I."

"But... was it worth it?" Valentina asked, her vocal cords feeling pinched, "Didn't you guys get weird looks? Didn't people judge you when they saw me with you? How did you explain my presence to people?"

"We didn't owe an explaination to anyone," Jack shook his head, "When you were given to us, you became part of our family. You were our daughter and that's all people needed to know," Valentina lowered her eyes for a moment, "Why are you asking me this, Valentina? What's going on?"

"Daddy..." Tears suddenly sprung to Valentina's eyes and Jack jumped into super-dad mode. He hopped onto the side of her bed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, "I know Momma is super worried and she's just been prodding me and prodding me to tell her things and I... I just couldn't tell her."

"Couldn't tell her what?" Jack asked.

Valentina sniffled, tears running down her flushed cheeks. Her throat throbbed uncomfortably and she struggled to keep her breath steady, "She thinks I do too much... but Daddy, I _have _to!"

"Says who?"

"Says me! Says society!" Valentina exclaimed, looking up at him with her wet eyes that were shimmering with hurt, "Daddy, I've studied a lot of history lately and the history of black people... well, it's awful. It's violent and full of misery and oppression and... I _know _all of that still exists today. I'm so scared of being singled out just because of the color of my skin. I think if I stay involved and active and keep acheiving, I can avoid the stigma. I don't want to be different, Daddy."

Jack was floored and absolutely astounded by what Valentina just told him. He and Rose had had this conversation over and over again. Their need to protect Valentina, the determined nature to give Valentina all the same opportunities any other kid could have- it had driven them as active parents for the past decade. They had talked to every police officer, firefighter, teacher, administrator, ice cream employee- they had felt comforted that Miles City and Montana as a whole seemed to be an acceptable climate to raise a socially sensitive little girl. Jack immediately encased his arms around Valentina, drawing her against him. He felt the need to comfort her in that moment. He felt so unnerved on the inside and was entirely lost on how he was going to tell Rose. Anyway he phrased it would end in her being devastated.

"Daddy, I love you," Valentina said into his chest. Jack tightened his arms around his little girl.

"I love you, too, Tina."


	8. Strawberry, Too

Chapter Eight

_June 15th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack and Rose didn't sleep at all. Jack was right. Any way he phrased it would have ended in the same result. Jack had waited to speak with Rose when they were settling into bed for the night. And, of course, she cried. She sobbed. She muffled her cries into Jack's chest. All he could do was hold her and stroke her fiery red curls gently. Rose couldn't believe it but Jack had to try convince her she wasn't a bad mother. Valentina was getting older and smarter- she was bound to become more aware of it. But Rose was so lost on herself.

Rose had finally managed to fall asleep just before dawn. She slept on Jack's chest and he simply watched, carressing her gently in hopes of sweet dreams. He watched the sun slowly light their room and he sighed as he watched the clock tick closer to his due arrival at the office. Jack didn't want to leave Rose home alone to deal with the children on her own, not in her despairing state, but it was crunch time on the July edition of the magazine and he simply couldn't be absent.

Slowly, Jack untangled himself from his wife and lowered her to the bed, pulling the quilt over her. She didn't even stir as Jack steathily got dressed and left the bedroom. He stopped by Charlie's room and peaked in to see his small figure buried beneath a mountain of quilts fast asleep. Jack was preplexed when he peaked into Valentina's room and found it empty. Jack went down the stairs and when he entered the kitchen, Valentina was sitting at the kitchen island in her pajamas, eating a bowl of cereal with a glass of orange juice.

"Good morning, Tina," Jack greeted, leaning his cane against the counter. He began working on brewing coffee, making sure to brew extra for Rose when she woke up.

"Mornin', Daddy," She said.

"How're you feeling?"

"I took my temperature before breakfast. 100. Is that good?"

"Well," Jack looked over his shoulder from his task with a bright grin, "you're still sick, but it's gone down, so that's good news."

"Do you think it's low enough to convince Momma to take me to the library?" Valentina asked after slurping off her spoon, "The new Dr. Dolittle book is out and I've read the last one at least ten times. I'm dying to read about his new adventures."

Jack finished stirring his coffee and turned towards her, "Just for the book, right? Your history club doesn't happen to be meeting today, too, does it?"

"Well... a couple of them might be there," Valentina did her best to sheepishly shrug.

"Hmm... well, that's up to your mother," Jack shrugged now, leaning against the counter, "Your fever is going down. If you wait just another day or two, you'll be fever free to do whatever you like."

"The first thing I'm gonna do is practice my trumpet," Valentina told him, "Momma told me to leave the audition piece alone for a few days and come back with fresh eyes. I think I'm ready to do that. The audition is next week, Daddy! I have to make sure I'm prepared."

"I think you're plenty prepared."

"Says you," Valentina replied quickly, taking a quick gulp of some orange juice, "You haven't seen the kids from the Miles City Prep School play yet. They're fierce, Daddy. Every single one of 'em could easily fill all eight chairs!"

"You're actin' like you're not fierce at all, Tina," Jack came to the island and set his hands to the cool countertops, "You've been playing that trumpet non-stop since you learned how to make it toot when you were just five years old. You study your art, you practice your art. I've seen you. You have no idea how truly talented you are, Valentina. They might _seem _fierce, but you _are _fierce," Jack grinned now, "You're a Dawson! We always manage to pull it together."

Valentina smiled warmly at her father. He dipped his head down to tenderly kiss her on the forehead. He then glanced to the clock and quickly finished off his mug of coffee, "Well, I'm off to work. Your mother and Charlie are still asleep. Let your mom sleep for as long as she needs to, alright? She's been tired from work recently. Tell Charlie to eat some cereal, too, and don't go anywhere. Sound good?"

"Yes, Daddy," Valentina nodded.

"Alright, I'll see you later," Jack told her, pleased with their conversation. He left out the door and on his merry way to work, but as he drew closer, a new realization fell upon him, He was going to have to confront Eleanor about what she knew about her son's current business. He shuffled his feet back and forth before he entered the hectic office. Williamson, his right hand man, who had been Wally's before, gretted him with a smile.

"Hey, I got a weird task for you today," Jack said, tapping his cane against the edge of his desk, "Could you go to the book store and buy a copy of the latest Dr. Dolittle book?"

Williamson smirked at the request, "Valentina's still on bed rest?"

"It'll be the only thing that'll keep her there," Jack grinned.

"Alright, I can do that," Williamson told him. Jack was beginning to move on when Williamson called after him, making Jack paused, "Eleanor is waiting for you in your office."

"Oh," Jack said, trying not to sound surprised, "Thanks."

...

Rose woke up nearly an hour after Jack had left. She quickly got dressed and checked Charlie's room, but that boy was still asleep, his face sunken into his pillow and his ashen blond hair molded in all kinds of directions. As she headed back towards the stairs, she noticed the library door was ajar and she peaked her head in. Valentina was laying across a fluffy couch with dozens of throw pillows. She had a book held up in front of her.

Rose's presence was not known to Valentina yet. Tenderly, she gripped the door frame and silently looked over her daughter. Rose's heart was ready to crumple into a thousand little pieces. The anxiety, the pain, she must have been feeling. The loneliness she must have been plagued in thinking she couldn't open up about this sooner to Rose. She tightened her grip on the doorway as she looked at Valentina. She'd give anything in the world to make her feel important, appreciated, and understood. She would do anything to secure Valentina's security.

Rose cleared her throat gently to alert Valentina of her presence. The young girl lifted her head from her bundle of pillows and looked towards the door, "Oh, hey, Momma."

"Hey, good morning," Rose said, walking into the room completely, "Can I make you anything for breakfast?"

"That's alright," Valentina shook her head, "I had some cereal this morning."

"Was that enough?" Rose asked, reaching out towards her forehead. Valentina wasn't nearly as hot as yesterday, but she still wasn't completely out of the woods, "Why don't you go wake Charlie up? I'll make us some blueberry pancakes."

"Strawberry, too?" Valentina asked, arching her eyebrows. Rose grinned.

"Strawberry, too."

...

Jack looked up from his desk, watching as Eleanor shuffled between his filing cabinets, trying to keep up with the demand of filing and sending archives to other journalists on the floor. He tapped his pen to his paper as he tried to come up with a way to speak with her. Things just weren't adding up between Charlie and Ivan. Jack just had a hunch. He lowered his paper to his desk and let out a quiet sigh, willing himself to look to the preoccupied secretary.

"Eleanor, can we talk?"

She looked surprised, her brown eyes didn't hide that. Jack gestured towards the door and Eleanor glanced fleetingly to the files in her hand before she crossed and closed it. She turned to face Jack Dawson, doing her best to not squirm or wring her hands beneath his gaze. Spending more and more time with him, listening to him talk, hearing about his ideas, learning his sense of humor, and indulging in the sound of his laugh had given her almost a school yard-like crush. Eleanor was sheepish about it, but relished in the feeling she hadn't recaptured in nearly ten years.

"Sure, Jack," She finally said, coming to stand behind the chair in front of his desk, "What is it?"

"It's not about work and... I'm sorry, again," Slowly, he watched Eleanor stop moving, "It's about the boys again. Eleanor, I'm worried something bad is happening between the boys. Charlie got caught by Rose stealing fireworks. And he said Ivan and Ross were into these things, too. Do you know anything about this?"

"Jack, I..." Eleanor's voice faltered for a moment and he saw tears spring to her eyes. Jack hopped to his feet in a moments notice and came to her side, directing her into one of the chairs. She dabbed at her eyes furiously in an attempt to ward off any crying. She sniffled and shook her head, "I'm at a loss at what to do for my son..."

"What do you mean?" Jack furrowed his brow and seated himself in a chair beside Eleanor.

"Things are changing, Jack," Eleanor told him, "And _fast," _Eleanor took a deep breath to steady herself as she realized she was getting wound up. She looked to Jack, brushing a curl from her face, "Something strange happened towards the end of the school year, Jack. Back in April. I don't even know what could bring about such a change. Ivan started acting much differently suddenly. He'd be gone after dinner, out all night. I would have no idea where he'd go," Eleanor shook her head, "I'd find myself out at one in the morning trying to find him or at least his bicycle," Eleanor let out a frustrated sigh, "And then... the stealing started to happen. The police delivered him a few times to my door, as well," Eleanor dabbed at her eyes again, clearly embarassed, "It wouldn't be big steals... little things, just soda, candy, and fireworks..."

Jack felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest as Eleanor's pinched scratchy voice continued.

"It looks like Ross easily made the transition with Ivan..." Eleanor wrung her hands together nervously, "I wanted things to work out between him and Charlie. Charlie's a good boy. But... I overheard Ivan say Charlie had turned down an opportunity to steal back in April and the boys apparently had iced him out."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Jack asked.

"I was scared, Jack... that you would judge me," Eleanor croaked, tears now freely falling from her eyes, "I've effectively lost control of my child. He decides what he wants to do. It's as if I'm not the adult anymore. Ivan has been the center of universe and it feels like my baby has been taken away from me. Things aren't like they used to be."

"And you don't know if it's because of someone or something?"

"I don't know," Eleanor shook her head, "It may just be becoming apparent he's without a father... Every boy needs a good father."

"No... something had to have happened, Eleanor," Jack told her, "There has to be someone new in town. Charlie got beaten up and I think it has something to do with whoever Ivan and Ross are hanging out with."

Eleanor couldn't hold it in anymore. She burst out into a full-on sob, catching Jack off-guard. She pressed her hands to her flustered face to shield her contorted and pinched face. Jack wasn't sure what to do, so he offered comfort by wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt...!" Eleanor said between sputtering breaths, "I don't want Ivan to burn all of his bridges...! I just want my boy back!"

"It's alright," Jack told her, rubbing her back gently, "We're going to think of something."

Eleanor shivered in Jack's arms. Her crying had finally managed to surpress itself. She looked to Jack with her wet eyes, blinking rapidly. Her cheeks were a warm rosy color now. Her heart hammered in her chest being so close to Jack. She only felt her school-girl feelings intensify by Jack's sincerity and total utter care.

"We will?" Eleanor asked, rather meekly.

Jack gave her a crooked grin, "Yeah, we will."

...

After Rose had finished getting breakfast cleaned up, Valentina went off to continue her _Sherlock Holmes _books and Charlie decided to continue with his train project. Rose wandered upstairs to her room and quietly closed the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment, sighing and closing her eyes. Breakfast had been wonderful, but the entire time, Rose could only feel guilt upon looking at her daughter. As if she had failed her. Set a bar much too high. Rose took a deep breath and silently crossed the bedroom in her stockings. She squeezed into the closet and flicked the light on. Rose looked around for a few moments before pulling a box down and hauling it on her vanity table beside the window overlooking the front yard. Slowly, she opened it and withdrew a wad of letters tied together by brown parcel string.

The stack of paper shook in her hand as she gazed down at it. The last time she had carefully sifted through the letters was 1919, when she was organizing them in chronological order for the last time. Rose closed her eyes again and told herslef not to cry. With a shaky hand, she reached forward and undid the knot in the string. Rose sank to her knees and splayed the letters out in front of her. From 1913 to 1919, the correspondance had been regular and very important to Rose. Seeing the last letter, the sixty-seventh one she had received, hurt her. Rose reached for the first letter, a rush of nostalgia reaching her from a decade ago.

_July 19th, 1913_  
_Dear Jack and Rose,_

_ Hello to you two. I'm glad you two could share an address with me so we can keep in contact. My friend Adanna, you remember her from the candy store, well, she can read and write, so I'm just sitting here and dictating to her and hoping she's got fast enough fingers to get everything._

_ Not much has changed in Texas since you left, unfortunately. Havana is quiet again, but many of us wonder how long that'll last. I can live in a bit more peace knowing my little angel is safe in your arms all the way up in Montana. If I ever get to leave this place, I'm going to make it back to y'all. And the rest of my life will I be humbled by white people like you, whether I'm ever free again or not. You two mean a great deal to me and I will never forget what you did for me that night in that burning alley._

_ I am endlessly excited about the possibilities that await Valentina in her newfound life. I imagine she has many options up in Montana. I know y'all two will do your utmost to nurture that little girl. Please, with your next letter, can you include a new drawing of her in her home in Montana?_

_My Deepest Love from Afar,_  
_Charlotte_

Rose trembled. She let the letter drift to the floor and gently, she touched the bridge of her nose as she struggled to keep her feelings inside her. They tingled beneath her skin, rushing up her throat. She wanted nothing more than to scream and cry hysterically.

_August 11th, 1913_  
_Dear Jack and Rose,_

_ My baby! She looks delightful with all those mountains surrounding her! Is that really in view just beyond your backyard?! And are you telling me that baby beside her on the blanket is her new little brother? Charlie! Welcome to the family, Charlie! I want nothing more than to come be with y'all in Montana so I could snuggle those babies tight and never release y'all's necks from my arms. How's the weather up there? It's always the same in Texas. Hot and dry!_

_ Has Valentina started to talk yet? Does she got a favorite toy? What's her bedroom like? I am so curious because I've never known what it was like to not sleep in a broom closet, elbow to elbow, with my siblings. I want to know what Valentina has because it does nothing but make me so happy. It makes me realized how blessed I truly am, that my daughter could escape all of this and have a chance at freedom? After every blasted day I endured, it was all made worth it when you left Havana with Valentina in that suitcase. And I hope one day, you two will finally feel its time to share with Valentina about me... about the real gnitty gritty details. One day, I'm sure she will be ready to know the truth about me and her father, her pre-determined fate that you two seamlessly destroyed and took her away from. But until then, you'll be the best mother and father for her. She needs people like her to make sure she's well read, can write, and can do everything a white girl can. _

_ I know you'll do what's best._

_Love Always,_  
_Charlotte_

Rose felt utterly gutted as she lowered that letter, but still, her eyes were dry. Her face was stone hard as her insides trembled on her frame. Suddenly, Rose began to wonder if now was the time to tell Valentina. It was a pivotal moment for her as she ascended into her teenage years. Something inside of Rose said no, though, and her hand reached for the last sheet of paper at the end of line.

_March 12th, 1914_  
_Dear Jack and Rose,_

_ Hello. This is Adanna. I felt it would be the right thing to do, to write you this letter. I am at a train station in Dallas, waiting for one that will take me to Ohio, and from there... New York. Things have fallen apart in Havana. So badly, things cannot be repaired. More than half the city is ash. This had nothing to do with what you would think. This wasn't over a couple black people making their way by sweeping floors and wiping toilets. This was between some white folks a town over and a couple of the white folks of Havana. And some of them were the family that Charlotte worked for. It was something about money, I reckon. There was a big ol' group of them, I could see them out the windows of the shop I cleaned and lived in. They seemed like they were just talking, a little tensely, it wasn't just your standard order of business._

_ And then their guns just started firing off. In all directions! They were breaking out all the windows of buildings. And that's when the fires began. Senseless torching of all the buildings around. And then the white folks started attacking each other. And they made a mad stampede up the hill, towards the richest family in town, where Charlotte worked. They broke through the iron wrought gates like they were nothing but wild mustangs. Gun shots are still ringing out and when I finally found the courage to stand up, there were just bodies laying everywhere. I was so scared, I grabbed my backpack of things and leapt out a window and took off down the street. I ran whatever direction I could, zig-zagged all around- there were bullets just flying everywhere!_

_ When I found a good vantage point, I looked back towards that big house on the hill. Gunfires, screams echoing everywhere. The house was burning down and the roof caved in, maybe even killing some of the white folks who were on the other side, I dunno, that just goes to show how much they just wanted to kill, even if it meant killing themselves. I stayed up on that lonesome hill for a long time and just cried. When morning time finally came, it only showed me that big house was burned completely to the ground. It was nothing but ash and rubble. There were a few bodies in the yard, but I didn't focus on them. I got up and I started walking. Now, I think I'm on my way to freedom, truly, this time._

_ Charlotte was a good woman. We'd known each other since we were children and first met when we had been bought and sent to Havana from Atlanta. To watch the love of her life be killed, to know now she's dead... she ain't never gonna see that little girl of her's again. To you, I send my condolences. Maybe one day, I'll be able to write you again. For now... I'm living on God's goodwill._

_All the best,_  
_Adanna_

Rose allowed herself to cry now. She dropped the letter from her hand and placed her hands to her face. She hunched her shoulders as the hot tears came out of her eyes. It wasn't fair, she told herself. How was any of this fair?


	9. Dynamic

_Author's Notes: I'm sorry that my updating recently has become so fragmented. I'm an educator who is now suddenly finding themselves working from home and teaching high schoolers, re-working all the lesson plans, and the lot is very time consuming! (Also, Animal Crossing: New Horizons came out, haha.) Anyway, now that distance learning has begun this week, I'm hoping that leaves me more time to find a solid updating schedule. Thank you to everyone for being patient, thank you for leaving reviews, and thank you, in general, for reading. Now, go wash your hands!_

Chapter Nine

_June 15th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

That night, Rose had several of the letters from Charlotte, the one's she was most fond of, skewed across the top of their bed. Jack was in the bathroom washing his face. Rose was sitting on the bed, criss-cross, in her nightgown as she simply hovered over the letters. Jack began dabbing his face with a nearby hand towel and gazed out the bathroom door at Rose.

"You really think we should tell her?" Jack asked as he flipped the light off and went to his side of the bed, gingerly laying his cane against the wall. He eased himself onto the bed beside Rose, "She's only eleven... and... it's a hard story," Jack said slowly, shaking his head as he recounted the first couple of days with Valentina. He had been so desperate to take Charlotte with him. He wished he hadn't allowed her to say no. He would be lying if he said he didn't think about her every day. Every time he looked at Valentina, he could see Charlotte.

"I think it's important," Rose told him softly, lifting her eyes from the letter. She had been tracing Adanna's rigid handwriting with her iris', "Think about what she said to you, Jack. This is a very pivotal moment for Valentina. She should know about what her own mother went through."

"Is that such a good idea right now?" Jack adjusted his pillows behind him and held his arms open, gesturing for Rose to lay against him. Without hesitation, Rose cuddled up to her husband, who held her protectively in his arms, "I agree with you, Rose; it's a pivotal time for Valentina. She's becoming more aware. We should've expected this, right?" Jack shrugged, "She's smart as hell. You've raised a brilliant little girl. But we also have to remember... she's a sensitive little girl, a self-conscious little girl... This has to be handled gently and honestly, I don't know if I'm ready."

"Why wouldn't you be?" Rose propped herself up on Jack's chest and gazed towards his eyes, "You're so good at talking to the kids. I need your support with this, Jack."

"She's going to need to be told about Charlotte one day," Jack nodded, "I just look at her eyes, Rose, and I see Charlotte. She's the absolute spitting image of her mother. It's going to be really hard for me to sit down and talk to her about it... it will just remind me of the woman I couldn't save."

"But we saved a piece of her," Rose said, reaching her hand up to graze his stubbly jaw, "We should sleep on it. But... I really think we're at that point, Jack. She knows we're not her real parents. It's our job to make sure she knows who they really are."

Jack grinned weakly and took Rose's hand into his, gently kissing her knuckles, "And she will, I promise you, Rose. But let's think about it. Please?"

Rose glanced back towards the letter strewn over their quilt before she looked back at Jack, nodding her head, "Alright... we'll think about it."

"Thank you," Jack said as he drew her back against him. He ran his calloused fingers along her silky skin and they sighed as they sank into their bed after a long day, "We'll tell her everything we know," Jack mumbled into her curls as he rest his cheek against her head, "We'll tell her where she got those beautiful brown eyes from. I promise."

...

_June 16th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack was up to his elbows in paperwork waiting for approval. It was absolute crunch time for the July edition. The cover still had yet to be decided on and it was due tomorrow at the end of business hours for the printer to have time to create and distribute them on time to grocery stores and marketplaces across America. He did everything in his power to focus on the work directly in front of him, but he was constantly ringing his mind back in and away from his children. Being a dad to two babies was tiring, but rather easy for Jack. Especially before his war injury hindered his physical ability. Being a father to two children on the edge of adolescence, however, was much more difficult. Between Charlie's stumbling social relationships and Valentina's acutely sensitive look on the world, Jack had a plateful with trying to nurture and encourage healthy habits for them, especially when he himself was working hard all day and eating only one or two square meals per day. Jack ran his hands through his messy blond hair, letting out an exasperate sigh as he scribbled his signature at the bottom of a page. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a mug of piping hot coffee being set on his desk.

Jack looked up, his bold brows arched. Eleanor was standing there with a grin, her own mug of coffee, and letters tucked under her arm. She was wearing a light and dark green plaid dress with white trimming and a properly buttoned collar. On one of the collars, she had a broach shaped like a bumblebee attached to it. Her curly blonde hair was allowed free and the whisps fell over her shoulders without care.

"Oh," Jack blinked rapidly, "Thanks, Eleanor. This will definitely get me through the rest of the afternoon."

"Good," Eleanor said estatically, "Hopefully it will get you through these approval papers, too!" Eleanor took the letters from under her arm and set them gingerly on Jack's desk, "I already highlighted all of the official mumbo-jumbo for the accountants. Some important information that you'd probably need, too. All you need to do is sign at the bottom and we're a step closer to the July edition!"

Jack took the files into his hand and grinned when he saw Eleanor's work. He looked back to her with his bright blue eyes, "Wow, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been in the magazine business for as long as I have. Thank you, Eleanor."

Eleanor felt her heart leap from Jack's praise. She couldn't help but grin ear-to-ear and pray her cheeks didn't flush to a rosy pink. Jack returned to his work of scribbling his name without a second thought. Eleanor got straight to work with filing finished papers to be archived in the June 1922 file. As she worked at the cabinet, she couldn't stop herself from continually glancing over her shoulder at her boss. She admired his tanned skin. She adored his boyishly layered blond hair, that seemed to do whatever it wanted. No matter what, it always looked nice on him and even gave him the epitome of youth despite being five years older than her. Eleanor's eyes glanced towards his broad defined shoulders, up his neck muscles, and along his jaw. He needed to shave, but Eleanor liked the rugged look on the man. She watched him in his intense focus as he continued sifting through papers, completely unaware of her staring. Eleanor wondered if he knew what kind of affect he had on women. Eleanor slipped one paper into the folder before she looked to Jack again. His dark brown eyebrows were stunningly contrasted from his light colored hair and eyes, which made him all the more handsome. The most attractive thing about him was his work ethic and, even more importantly, his devotion to being a father. Eleanor thought of Jack as her knight in shining armor, who saved her from the disgrace of moving back into her elderly parent's living room.

"Everything alright?" Jack asked, suddenly snapping Eleanor from her trance. He was looking at her now and she felt her body temperature rise.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," Eleanor shook her head, "I was just... thinking."

Jack grinned at her, making her face flush, "Thinkin' about what?"

Eleanor paused and lowered the files in her hand. No man had ever given the courtesy of asking what was on her mind or how she was feeling. Not even Benjamin. She had loved that man with every ounce of her being, but she was just beginning to understand how much better she could have had it being with a man like Jack. After a moment, she finally mustered a weak grin.

"I'm really happy to be working here, Jack."

"Good," Jack nodded, "We're glad to have you, Eleanor."

Jack returned to the workload on his desk. Eleanor turned back to continue filing. As she lifted another sheet to organize, she noticed her hands were shaking and her heart was thundering rapidly in her chest. She hadn't felt like this since she was in school. But she liked the feeling and only wanted to feel more from Jack Dawson.

...

Rose had successfully persuaded Valentina to take a nap, promising her that if she rested, she would be healthy enough to return to the world the next day. Charlie had spent nearly all day in his room. Rose had come and gone throughout the afternoon to check on him and bring him snacks in hopes of coaxing him out, but it was to no avail. The boy was busy sitting amongst his mess of a train collection, simply pondering, and making no progress at all. Rose managed to get a chapter done on her novel and finish her musings for the newspaper, all in good time to get started on dinner. She decided to make pork chops with a garden salad and an ear of corn for each plate. As the kitchen began to grow aromatic, she heard the front door open and she smiled. After a moment of shuffling, Jack came through the archway of the kitchen with the mail in his hand.

"Hey, pretty lady," He greeted. They pecked each other on the lips, "Need any help?"

Rose laughed airly, "You can help me by sitting down and resting."

Jack grinned and did as he was told, scraping a stool up to the island, "How was your day?" He asked as he began sifting through the mail.

Rose took a moment to flip the pork chops on the burner before turning to Jack and pondering the question, "Actually, it was pretty boring. Valentina's been napping and Charlie's just been playing with his trains."

"He didn't go out and ride his bike today?" Jack looked up from the mail.

"Nope," Rose began pulling out all the needed ingredients for the garden salad, "He didn't leave at all today to my knowledge," Rose had an armload of food in her hand that she cluttered onto the island opposite from Jack. She brushed a red curl from her face, "I'm having lunch with some mom-friend's tomorrow. Maybe I can get a play date set up for Charlie."

"That would be good," Jack agreed as he ripped an envelope open, "I don't want him hanging around with Ivan or Ross anymore."

Rose poured some salad greens into a large bowl, "It's amazing what a little boy will do to be accepted by his peers."

"I was in Charlie's shoes, too, y'know," Jack told her, "That's why I'm worried, Rose. One bad apple spoils the bunch. When I was ten, I was drinking and smoking, staying out all night, and doing any ol' dumb thing if it meant approval. Charlie needs new friends, just like I did."

"Well, I'm working on it," Rose grinned, glancing up from tossing the salad.

"And you're my hero because of it," Jack returned the smile. The couple fell into a content silence as Rose carried on with dinner and Jack worked on separating the mail.

...

A knock on Charlie's door made him turn his head from staring at nothing in particular and thinking about nothing specific. The chirp of the ciacadas made it through his open window as his mother came in, wearing her robe and letting her curls loose on her shoulders.

"Time for bed!" Rose announced with a grin, as if it was her favorite time of the day, "Get in your jammies, mister."

Charlie sighed as he went through the motions of getting into his pajamas. His mother stood at his bathroom door and made sure he washed his face and brushed his teeth. Finally, when he was getting settled into bed, Rose plopped down beside him, pulling the quilt up on his shoulders.

"Do you have to tuck me in every night?" Charlie asked as Rose adjusted his pillows.

"Of course I do," Rose grinned and even laughed lightly. Gently, she combed through Charlie's unruly wavy blond hair, "One of my favorite things to do is tuck you and your sister in. You used to love it when you were little, you know. You would beg me to read to you... to sing to you. Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Charlie nodded.

"In fact, I remember your favorite song," Rose's smile got bigger, "We used to look out the window and sing it every night, sometimes even twice. I can sing it for you now-"

"That's alright-"

"Twinkle, twinkle little star," Rose began, "How I wonder what you are..."

"Mo-om," Charlie groaned.

"You _loved _that song!"

"Mom, nine year old boys don't like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

"Well, excuse me," Rose said, her smile never wavering, "I just can't keep up with the times, can I? You're just growing up so fast," She reached her hand out and grazed his round soft cheek, "Soon enough, you'll be a grown man and I won't get to tuck you into bed every night."

"You don't even have to do it anymore," Charlie told her, falling back into his pillows, "I can tuck myself in."

"Too bad," Rose gently teased, "I'll do it for as long as you live with me!"

In the next moment, her hands dove out and she began tickling Charlie rambunctiously. Charlie did his best to conceal his laughter, but as her slender fingers ran under his arms, he couldn't help but erupt into giggles, fighting against her to make her stop. Rose relished in the laughter of her child. There was no better feeling. His cheeks grew rosy and she finally stopped, giving Charlie a moment to catch his breath.

"Good night, sweetheart," Rose whispered, tenderly kissing his forehead through his bangs, "I'll see you tomorrow, alright? Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Night, Mom," Charlie said, settling back against his pillows.

Rose went to his bedroom door and paused, looking back towards her son beneath his mountain of quilts and pillows. She smiled lovingly at him before she flipped the lights off and left. Charlie was wide-awake, however, and found himself staring at the ceiling for the next hour. Slowly, he listened to the old creaky house become silent. Nobody was stirring. Charlie flipped the lamp on his nightstand on and in his bare feet, steathily snuck across his room to his bedroom door. He eased it open just an inch, knowing any further would result in a creaking noise. The house was dark and silent. All the bedroom doors were shut. Quickly, Charlie got dressed in a maroon button up and khaki pants and did his best to jam through his door without making a sound. He held his boots in his hands as he padded down the stairs silently.

_Tonight's the night I take my summer back! _Charlie thought to himself as he jammed his feet into his boots without bothering to unlace them, _I'm gonna have fun this summer! I just have to win these boys over. I can do it. I'm a showsman!_

Charlie walked through the dark house slowly, trying to consider what to take as an offering to the older boys in the park. He found a hunting knife but decided that was too lame. He assumed the boys each had their own pocket knife. He had been begging his parents for one for the last three birthdays but it had yet to show up amongst the sea of presents he received. Charlie made two laps through the first floor of the dark house and sighed, coming back to the dining room beside the entry foyer. He put his hands on his hips, feeling rather desperate. He paused, however, when he spied his father's coat slung over the back of a dining room chair. Hesitantly, Charlie reached into one of the pockets, but it was empty besides lint. Glancing up the stairs, Charlie reached into the other pocket and his hands met something that was cool to the touch. He lifted the content from the jacket and held it up to the moonlight bleeding through the curtains. It was a pack of cigarettes.

Charlie grinned. He had found his ticket to a summer of fun.


	10. The Diamond Boys

Chapter Ten

_June 16th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Charlie quite liked the town at night. The lemony glare of the street lights, the dancing of the moths, and the night time orchestra from the trees were all very pleasant to him. Not a soul was to be seen as it reached past eleven o'clock. It was overcast that night and only slivers of moonlight were able to pierce through the low hanging clouds. Charlie guessed it was going to rain, which was not an unusual occurence up in the mountains.

Charlie's bike crunched through the gravel as he pumped his legs back and forth, making his way towards the park that wasn't far from his house. Tucked into the pocket of his pants was the crumpled cigarette box he had managed to swipe from his father. He was sure he wouldn't notice. As Charlie steered himself down the street, the park began to come into view with it's iron wrought fencing that glowed in the moonlight. Charlie's heart began hammering in his chest as he braked just outside the gate. He hopped off his bike and wheeled it into some nearby bushes out of sight. His parents would be furious if he came home with a wrecked bicycle again.

Sheepishly, Charlie began wandering through the shadows of the trees. He looked all directions, as if expecting some teenage boys to be acting as spies. He assumed they'd come down from the trees, but nothing stirred. Charlie reached into his pocket to touch the cigarettes, as if it was security to him. He had to believe it was his ticket to not getting beat up again. Slowly, Charlie weaved through the trees, coming down to the small creek that ran through the edge of the public park. He stopped abruptly when he saw the dark looming figures walking around by the river.

Charlie took in a deep breath and whipped the hair from his face before he found himself marching forward. The boys were so tall. Charlie was almost jealous they had hit their growth spurt. Charlie still hadn't reached five foot, but his mother always told him he was going to be tall, just like his own father, who was nearly six foot. Charlie stepped on an elusive tree branch which snapped beneath his boots and he froze as he saw all the figures come together and begin investigating. He stood silently, watching as they came closer. He heard the click of a flashlight and blinked against the harsh light that fell across his face.

"Hey, it's that boy from last week," The one with the flashlight said, "What was his name? Chad?"

"Charlie," Charlie told them as he adjusted to the light on his face, "Charlie Dawson."

"What are you doing here?" Ivan pushed to the front of the crowd of boys, "I thought we made ourselves clear last week, Charlie."

"You did," Charlie replied with a quick nod of the head.

"So, what, you came back for another beating?" Another boy smirked, "Just in time, too. The scabs on my knuckles from last time just cleared up."

The boys were already hot on the idea and each were smiling as they began to encircle the small wiry boy. Charlie could feel a panic rising up in him as he looked between all their dark faces. Some boys shook their arms loose and cracked their necks, grinning deviously. It was obvious these boys took pleasure in inflicting pain amongst others.

"Wait, wait, wait," Charlie held his hands up, "Where's Lawrence?"

"What's it matter?" A boy behind Charlie said as he cracked his knuckles.

"He told me last time I forgot the cardinal rule," Charlie replied, turning in a circle to look at the boys, "He said I forgot an offering. Well, I got one for him."

"Give it to me," Ivan held his hand out, "I'll deliver to him."

"I want to give it to him."

"No," Ivan snapped, grabbing Charlie by his collar. Charlie was shocked as Ivan effortlessly dragged him closer. Ivan had never been physical with Charlie. It caught him off-guard, "We only give Lawrence the good stuff. If you think you're gonna march down there and give him some stupid train or a pack of crappy firework poppers, think again, Charlie. You listen to us."

Charlie couldn't help but wonder, as he stared at Ivan's stone-hard face, how Lawrence could have such a vice grip over all of these boys. In a way, he thought, they were like him. Just trying to fit in. Ivan's patience wore thin quickly and he gave Charlie a quick shake.

"Peter, check his pockets," Ivan said, without releasing Charlie or tearing his eyes away from him. Charlie squirmed as he felt a boy's hands begin digging in his pockets. He withdrew the stolen goods from his trousers and held them beneath the light of the flashlight.

"Cigarettes," Peter said, holding them up for all to see, "More than half a pack, too."

"Where'd you get those?" Ivan asked, tightening his grasp on Charlie's collar.

"I stole them," Charlie replied, "from my dad."

Ivan was quiet for a moment before he released Charlie, shoving him backwards to stand in the middle of the circle again. Charlie windmilled his arms and saved himself from falling down. He adjusted his shirt as the boys murmered. One wandered away from the group into the inky darkness encasing the park. Charlie stood nervously between all the boys, who were quietly talking to each other while keeping hawk eyes on the small Dawson boy.

Soon enough, Lawrence with Ivan in tow came to join the circle, half of his face illuminated by the flashlight. Lawrence had the pack of cigarettes in his hand, his gold earring glinting. He grinned and laughed, looking at Charlie from head to toe.

"You again," Lawrence said, shuffling his ratty boots, "You're a determined little one, aren't you? Lucky Strike cigarettes, hm. Pretty expensive brand. You said they're your dad's?"

"Yeah," Charlie nodded, "it's the only brand he smokes nowadays."

Lawrence examined the packaging for a moment and slowly nodded, "So, your parents just leave this kind of stuff laying around?"

Charlie shrugged, "It was in his coat pocket."

Lawrence began walking in circles around Charlie, which made the boy's nerves grow on edge, "You've got a nice _Schwinn _bicycle... your dad smokes Lucky Strike... do your parents also have a liquor cabinet?"

"Yeah," Charlie looked over his shoulder as Lawrence strolled by, "it's in the dining room."

Lawrence paused, his scummy smirk appearing across his face, "Do they lock it?"

Charlie stared at Lawrence for a moment, "No."

Lawrence reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a box of matches. Deftly, he swiped the match against the bottom of his boot, sparking a light. Charlie was rather amazed by the party trick. Lawrence lit the end of a cigarette and cherried as he inhaled deeply. He took his time relishing in the fancy British cigarettes which were much different than any that had been given to him as an offering before. Lawrence looked between the boys before laying his eyes back on Charlie.

"So, you wanna hang out with us, huh?" Lawrence shrugged, "You wanna roll with the Diamond Boys?"

"The Diamond Boys?"

"Diamonds in the rough," Lawrence told him, "That's what we call ourselves. You wanna be our friend, right, Charlie?"

Charlie shuffled his boots and glanced towards Ivan and Ross before looking back towards Lawrence, "Yeah. If it means we're gonna have a fun summer."

Lawrence grinned, "You don't even know the definition of fun yet."

"So... I'm in?" Charlie asked.

Lawrence held his hand up, "There's a stipulation."

"What's a stipulation?" Charlie furrowed his brow.

"A condition," Lawrence said after a drag of his cigarette, "If you wanna be a Diamond Boy, there's somethin' you gotta do to stay in with us."

"Alright," Charlie shrugged, "What is it?"

"You gotta keep us in supply with some alcohol and cigarettes," Lawrence told him, lowering the cigarette to his side, "Your parents got money, they got trust in you; it's the perfect scenario for you to gnab us some handles and cigarettes. We get that stuff, but only once or twice a week. You're gonna be our ticket to fun every night. Whaddya say?"

Charlie looked around at the circle of boys. Every pair of eyes were on him and he almost felt like he had stage fright like he had two year agos at the school's choir recital. He was so close to finally getting settled into a new group. He was so close to finally having a summer that was worth it before the dread of school returned. But the condition scared him. Continually stealing from his parents? This one time, Charlie thought it would be harmless and his ticket to friendship. But to continue to swipe things from under his parent's nose? When Charlie looked to Lawrence, however, he felt his knees buckling. He wanted this, he convinced himself.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do," Charlie nodded. Lawrence was pleased. He offered a cigarette out towards Charlie, "Oh, that's al-"

"If you wanna be a Diamond Boy, you gotta drink and smoke," Lawrence said, jamming the cigarette towards him, "If you think you're so bad, take a puff."

Lawrence lit the cigarette for Charlie. He took a small hesitant puff before he broke out into a series of coughs, earning laughs from the boys around him. The second time wasn't so bad. Charlie wasn't ready for the head rush, however, and the park spun around him. He rather liked it, though. Lawrence was grinning at him.

"I got a good feelin' about you, Charlie," Lawrence said, linking his large arm around the wiry boy's shoulders, "Come on, boys. Get that whisky from Ethan's backpack and let's go down to the river!"

...

_June 17th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The next morning, Charlie and Valentina were awake by eight, which was a miracle by Rose's standards. Since Jack wasn't heading into the office until after nine, Rose immediately hopped to making everybody homemade cinnanmon rolls with a sugary glaze. As Charlie and Valentina sat at the table with their father and awaited breakfast, Charlie glanced nervously between his parents. Nothing seemed different. His father didn't look like he had anything to say. Charlie was relieved when he had stumbled home on his bike at two in the morning and didn't see his parents on the front porch. He had tried whiskey for the first time last night and the world had been spinning around him, but he thought it was fun. His headache was slowly waning as he cleared two glasses of orange juice.

"My, my," Rose said as she came to the table with the carton, "You're flying through your orange juice this morning, Charlie."

"It's extra sweet this morning," Charlie told her, watching as the pulpy liquid filled his glass.

Rose grinned at her son for a moment before shifting her attention to Valentina, "So, what's the healthy girl with a perfect temperature doing today?"

"Trumpet practice," Valentina replied, rearranging her silverware on the table, "My audition is on the 22nd!"

"Comin' up fast," Jack nodded. He looked behind Rose to see the kettle on the stove top for the coffee was steaming. He was just coming to his feet and reaching for his cane when Rose cleared her throat, directing his attention to her.

"I'll get it. You sit down," Rose told him, setting the orange juice down between the children.

The family had a pleasant breakfast together, chatting about all their different interests. For Jack and Rose, having sit-down time as a family to eat were their favorites. Dinner was always family time. But when breakfast made the cut, it only made their day better. Rose was also always proud to watch her family eat the food she made. Usually her other mom friend's complained about a sink of dirty dishes, but Rose saw them as the leftovers of a happy home.

Once breakfast was over, Charlie took off on his bike without even clearing his place at the table. Valentina gathered her's and her brother's dishes and delivered them to the sink before she raced upstairs in a hurry to get her trumpet put back together. Rose sighed in content as she scraped left overs into the trash and dumped it into the sink to deal with later. She turned towards her husband who was finishing his coffee at the table.

"Well, everyone is off to their day," Rose said, flicking a curl from the frame of her face.

"Yup," Jack came to his feet and reached for his cane, "Guess that means I should be, too."

Jack set his mug into the sink and headed into the dining room with Rose on his heels. He began shrugging into his coat, "I wish you didn't have to go," Rose sighed.

"Hey, it's almost the weekend," Jack grinned over his shoulder as he situated his coat, "Then you'll have me all day."

"How's the July edition coming?" Rose asked as she approached Jack and removed extra lint from his coat, "Are you making Wally proud?"

"I sure hope so," Jack told her, reaching for her hand, "Suddenly everyone owns a boat."

Rose laughed at the thought, "How is Eleanor adjusting to the office."

"Oh, she's a natural," Jack grinned as he began towards the door, "I think she's going to do just fine. I'll see you later, alright? I'll be home a little after six."

"Have a good day," Rose said, running her hand up his arm, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Jack leaned in for a kiss and then he was on his way. Rose waved to him from the porch as he closed the gate behind him and began on his way to the office. He was already imagining the state of his messy desk. So many papers left unattended to yesterday, that stack would be doubled by today.

As Jack began down the main road outside of his neighborhood, he decided to get a smoke in. He reached into his pocket but furrowed his brow when he realized the pack wasn't there. He checked the other pocket, too, before he stopped and began patting himself down.

_Damn, Rose must have borrowed them, _Jack thought as he continued on his way, _She must have a lot of due dates right now. She probably needs them more than I do anyway._

...

At the office, Jack's premonitions were correct. He was swimming in paperwork, as normal, as they entered the late stages of the month. The crunch time had become quite apparent. People were rushing about, yelling across the room, and constantly chatting on their phones. During these times of the month, Jack kept his door close so he could focus on the logistics of paperwork that went into getting their monthly magazine published and put onto shelves. It wasn't his favorite part of the job, but that's what being the boss meant.

He heard his office door creak open after about an hour of working at his desk. He had been expecting his right hand man, Williamson, to be coming in to meet about the possibility of shipping the magazine to Europe, an endeavor they had been involved in for nearly half a year, but when Jack looked up, he was surprised to see Eleanor coming in with papers and a tray in her hands. She was wearing a hot red dress with black accents and had her curly hair swept atop her head.

"Good morning, Jack!" She greeted as she shut the door and closed all the noises of the office out.

"Oh, hi, Eleanor," Jack said as he shuffled all of his papers, "What's up?"

"I just have some notarized forms I need to pop into your files," Eleanor told him, "But I also brought you a mid-morning snack! I know you're overflowing with paperwork, so I didn't want you to worry about getting hungry."

Eleanor set the tray on a free part of Jack's desk. He was surprised to see half of an avocado sprinkled with salt and pepper, a small container of yogurt, and a mug of piping hot coffee. He arched his eyebrows and looked to Eleanor, "Wow, thanks, Eleanor. You know, you don't have to do that. I don't want you fallin' behind on your own work on account of me."

"Oh, nonsense," Eleanor waved her hand dismissively, being sure to put on a big smile, "I had time. You're the boss and need all the brain power you can get!"

"Well, I really appreciate it," Jack told her, reaching for the coffee, "How'd you know I love avocado?"

"Lucky guess," Eleanor giggled, "How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?"

"I'm fine," Jack shook his head, "You've done plenty. Thank you, Eleanor."

Jack returned to his work and Eleanor found herself in front of the filing cabinet again. She pondered over herself for a moment as she opened the drawer and found the folder she needed. She glanced back towards Jack who was already lost in his work again. She had been brainstorming all kinds of ways to interact with Jack. She had even worn one of her nicest dresses. Eleanor decided she would need more blush tomorrow. She would do anything to have Jack Dawson look at her for a few moments longer. Slowly, she stewed in her mind and paused from her work, looking over her shoulder at Jack.

"Jack, can I talk to you about something?"

"Mhm," He nodded, his eyes still glued to the page he was writing on.

Eleanor set her files on top of the cabinet and approached his desk again, smoothing her long skirt out, "I was thinking more about conversation about the boys..."

Immediately, Jack looked up at her, "Yeah?"

"I feel really awful about the whole situation," Eleanor told him, "I was wondering if maybe tomorrow, since it's a short day at the office, if you'd like to come over to my house for a late lunch? We could discuss what's best for the children, really get to the root of the problem. It would be nice to have some extra advice."

Jack smiled and took a sip of his coffee, "You know what, I'll take you up on that offer," Jack nodded, "If you're as worried as I am, that would be a great time for us to really hash it out."

"Great, it's settled," Eleanor nodded, feeling her heart leap. As she turned back to return to her work, Jack called after her and she attempted to turn towards him coyly.

"I really appreciate you wanting to talk about this," Jack told her.

"Of course," Eleanor said, "Anything for you, Jack."

He grinned at her before returning to his work. His very smile made her entire day so much better. She returned to her filing, the only thing occupying her mind being Jack's smile and his warm velvety voice.


	11. Puzzle Pieces

Chapter Eleven

_June 17th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Rose was running a little behind schedule. Her purse beat against her hip as she walked quickly. The small patio café was coming into view just across the street and at the end of the block. She could already spy her two lunch guests, Betty Thompson and Maggie Hendricks, seated at a round garden table shaded beneath a large vanilla canvas umbrella.

Betty Thompson was the oldest of the trio of friends. She had dark brown eyes and always wore bright ruby red lipstick with strikingly blushed cheeks. She treated her hair to be a dark brown and had been fighting gray strands off for years. Betty, however, was a kind woman and easy to have a conversation with. She had a loud boisterous laugh that could fill a banquet hall and was uniquely her own, recognizable from opposite ends of the street. Her oldest son was eighteen years old and was away at boot camp in Washington D.C.. She had a daughter who was fifteen that worked at the local ice cream parlor on the weekends. Her youngest son was just a year older than Charlie. Her husband, Mr. Colton Thompson, was fifteen years her senior, and made his trade as an artist of pottery and painting delicate porcelain pots and vases.

Maggie Hendricks was the youngest of the trio, just about two and a half years shy of Rose. She had long luxurious wavy blonde hair that glistened beneath her large collection of sun hats that she wore on the daily. She was quite talented at math and actually managed the family finances, a secret she had only sworn to Betty and Rose. Her oldest child was just one year behind Charlie and she had another two year old son. Her husband, Mr. Arthur Hendricks, was a carpenter and had built several structures in Miles City.

When Rose came through the gates, the women waved at her. Rose's cheeks were flushed from the warm and rushed walk she had made from her house to the café. Luckily the women already had a pitcher of ice cold water sitting on the table, along with a shining empty glass for her. Rose slung her purse over her chair and finally caught her breath, "Ladies," She said politely while seating herself at the table, "I'm sorry I was late. Apparently the children and I booked different times for the serving of lunch today."

Betty broke out into a hoot immediately, delicately fanning herself with a floral cloth fan, "Oh, Rose, it's like I'm reading your musings in the newspaper."

Rose grinned as she poured herself a glass of water, "Are they still serving cocktails here?"

"Oh, honey," Betty chuckled again, reclining in her garden chair, "Prohibition hasn't reached us yet. In fact, Maggie and I already ordered some for the table."

"Just like usual," Rose laughed after a refreshing sip of water, "So, ladies, what's new?"

"Oh, Arthur and I are mad at each other," Maggie sighed, though she didn't seem overly concerned. She had a charming southern twang in her voice, having grown up in the woods of Alabama, "Remember my birthday at the end of May? Well, Arthur bought me this luxurious fur coat, I quite like it," Maggie waved her hand dismissively, "Now he's pickin' fights sayin' I don't like because I haven't worn it! It's the summer time, for pete's sake."

"Oh, men," Betty shook her head, "They never understand."

"Jack's been so busy at work recently," Rose huffed, "He used to be able to take a week off in the summer so the family could go somewhere, but the magazine has taken off since the end of the Great War and things are just crazy now."

"If there's one thing I know it's that Jack Dawson works too much," Maggie looked to Rose as she took a sip of her water, "Arthur says they haven't seen each other in awhile."

"I know," Rose nodded. Suddenly a waiter appeared, serving each woman their cocktails, which they all immediately took into their hands, "I could really use his help with the kids right now. In fact, there was something I wanted to talk about with you two..."

"Of course," Betty nodded, "Cocktail time is serious discussion time."

Maggie snorted while Rose grinned and stirred her cocktail with a straw, "I've been noticing... maybe it's just something that's coming with age," Rose shrugged, "But Charlie has been acting very strange recently. Sneaking out at night, not partaking in any of his usual past times... he even stole something recently. Have you two heard anything through the grapevine?"

Maggie shook her head with arched eyebrows but Rose spied Betty's hesitated pause after the words sank into her. Rose watched as Betty drank some of her cocktail and pondered for a moment, "You said he was sneaking out at night?"

"Yes, through his window," Rose sat forward, "He came home a few nights ago with a bent up bike and a busted up face. I'm concerned. I can't think of a single child at the school who would do that to Charlie."

"Peter has been sneaking out, too," Betty nodded, lowering her eyes for a moment, "And his attitude lately has been unbearable."

Rose couldn't help but feel worried, "How long has Peter been acting differently."

"I'd say since April now," Betty told her.

Rose fell against the back of her chair, a pensive look on her face, "What could have possibly happened...? Charlie used to be such a sweet innocent little boy. He was getting so good at drawing. And now, all of that seems to have vanished. He's been so dodgy lately and he hasn't picked up a pencil in weeks."

There was a silence at the table. Maggie looked between both the women and coyly took a sip of her cocktail before clucking, "You know... I think I know what happened."

Rose and Betty looked to Maggie. The blonde haired woman shrugged and stirred her straw delicately, "Back at the beginnin' of April, a new family moved to Miles City. They're called the Freedman's. They've got four boys, all between twelve and sixteen. They popped 'em out quick," Maggie shrugged, darting her bright blue eyes between her friends, "Anyway, they moved here because apparently they were livin' in Helena, but they've got no control over their boys. I mean, they're a bunch of hoodlums! Stealin', breakin' windows, pushing people over. They apparently got in so much trouble, the family had to relocate; to start fresh."

"Where did you hear all of this?" Betty asked, lowering her fan.

"I ran into Mrs. Janet Buchanan at the dress shop when we were gettin' some adjustments done," Maggie told her, raising a delicate gloved hand, "They moved in next to her and the boys have already thrown fireworks at her poor beagle."

Rose furrowed her brow, "Do you know any of the boy's names?"

"Mrs. Buchanan only mentioned one," Maggie shrugged, "Apparently he's the most rotten. He found a dead squirrel and put it in her mailbox. His name is Lawrence."

"Lawrence Freedman..." Rose said slowly, digging into her mind, "I never met anybody with the last name Freedman at the last school event in May."

"Oh, you probably won't be seein' much of them," Maggie shook her head, rustling her wavy hair, "They're a bunch of withdrawn people, like hermits. Mrs. Buchanan says they don't wave or anythin' like that. With boys like that, I'm sure they're just accustomed to not bein' on good terms with their neighbors."

"I don't like the sound of that," Betty said after a sip of her cocktail, "Where do these Freedman's live? I wouldn't mind popping in to say hello."

"Hold on, we can't just go showing up on their stoop," Rose held her hand up, "We certainly don't want to be making any enemies in our small tight-knit community, Betty."

"Have you ever heard the sayin' "one bad apple spoils the bunch"?" Maggie arched her eyebrows at Rose, "If your boys are actin' strange, I say nip this in the bud before _you're _the one packin' up to ditch town on account of his reckless actions."

"Charlie would never break windows or throw firecrackers at a living thing."

"Don't you think the Freedman's thought the same about their sons?" Maggie asked, peering over the top of her glass.

Rose sighed, shaking her head, "Just let me do some digging. Maybe we can figure a better way out than just knocking on their door."

"The investigative journalist prevails," Betty laughed lightly, "Don't you make me wait long, Rose. I won't stand anymore lip from that boy of mine."

Rose nodded slowly, "I think I have a better idea, ladies..."

...

After a delightful dinner of beans with butter-fried potatoes, Rose found herself at the kitchen sink washing the dirty dishes. Upstairs, Valentina's trumpet was crooning out her familiar audition piece. Rose found herself being carried away by the gentle toots of the brass instrument. Rose turned her soapy rag in circles on the porcelain dishes, watching the water glisten as it ran down the drain. She lifted her head, a curl falling against the frame of her face. The sky was a blend of dark blue and oranges as the twilight overtook the daytime. Distantly, Rose could see the looming outline of the beautiful mountains encasing them.

Rose heard the padding of shoes through the dining room and she looked over her shoulder to see Jack emerging into the kitchen. She smiled at him and directed her attention back to finishing the dishes. Jack brushed past her, gently running his hand along her waist. He went to the ice box and pulled himself a beer out. He paused, however, and turned towards his wife.

"Hey, where'd you put my cigarettes?" Jack asked, popping the cap off his beer, "I could really use one right now. You're comin' out to the patio after you're done with the dishes, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be out shortly," Rose nodded as she set a dish in the drying rack. She looked over her shoulder at Jack, "I haven't taken your cigarettes, though. They should be in your coat pocket, as usual."

"They weren't there this morning," Jack shook his head, "I was going to have one on the way to the office."

Rose paused from her task and stared out the window for a moment. Her lunch with Betty and Maggie was echoing through her mind. Immediately, Rose shut the water off, letting the dishes sink to the bottom of the suddy water to be forgotten. Rose turned towards Jack, wiping her hands clean with a rag, "Jack, there's something I need to talk to you about. Something that Maggie told me that just makes all too much sense with what's been going on lately."

"Alright," Jack put his beer on the island and seated himself, leaning his cane up against the counter, "I'm all ears."

"Does the name Freedman ring a bell to you?" Rose asked.

Jack thought long and hard for a moment before ultimately shaking his head, "Not off the top of my mind, no."

"They're the newest family to move to Miles City," Rose seated herself in a stool as well, sitting knee-to-knee with Jack, "And it turns out, they have four trouble-making sons who have caused even a stir in Peter Thompson."

"All four boys are bad?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Apparently the one we need to look out for is Lawrence," Rose told him, "I'm thinking this Lawrence-boy has something to do with Charlie sneaking out, getting beat up, and stealing."

"You're not insinuating..." Jack paused and looked at Rose's face, "You think Charlie swiped my cigarettes?"

"I don't know... I don't want to say that, but the circumstances seem odd."

Jack's face was pensive and he lowered his eyes. He never wanted to think his boy would attempt to hike the slippery slope Jack had twenty years ago. Jack felt like a terrible father in that moment for allowing his boy to even wander from the path. Jack finally looked back to Rose who was patient with his slow processing, "Maybe that's the kid whose got Ivan sneaking out at nights."

"It has to be. Betty's son is doing the same thing."

Jack pressed his hand to his face for a moment, thinking long and hard, "Rose, I don't like this."

"Me either," Rose shook her head.

The couple fell into a silence. Slowly, their hands found their way to each other, tangling up together. They both stared at each other, worried about the startling puzzle pieces they were beginning to collect. They knew they couldn't confront their boy yet. The best thing they could do was observe and wait for their moment. Which had them wondering as parents if that moment would ever come.

...

Charlie steered his bike into the park that night just a little after 10:30pm. It was a cloudy night with no visible stars and the moonlight was obscured. Miles City was encased in blackness. Charlie had been riding a bicycle for years. His father had first taught him before he left for the Great War and the skill had never left him. Deftly, Charlie stood on his pedals and carefully wound around rocks and twigs on the rather steep incline leading towards the usual meeting place. Distantly, he could hear the hooting and hollering of the boys.

Charlie leapt off the side of his bike and wheeled it against a tree where several other bikes were carelessly disregarded and tangled up with other handlebars, pedals, and chains. Charlie took a moment to inspect the other bicycles. At least what he could make out of them in the darkness. Some were brands he hadn't heard of and the bike frames were nothing too impressive. Some were rusty. Some were obviously old hand-me-downs. Not a single other boy owned _Schwinn _like Charlie did. Charlie glanced to his bike propped up against the tree. The mismatching wheels were still rather irksome to the boy, but he was pleased that his baby blue frame and tank were unscathed.

"Hey, Charlie."

The Dawson boy nearly leapt out of his skin. He looked over his shoulder to see the cherried end of a cigarette bobbing towards him. Charlie blinked rapidly and realized it was Lawrence, wearing ratty clothes that had frayed edges and rips in the knees of his trousers. His brown hair was messily piled atop his head, clawing down over his freckled face.

"Oh, hi, Lawrence," Charlie replied, taking a deep breath through his flared nostrils to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"So," Lawrence exhaled a plume of smoke, "whaddya got for us tonight? We're clean out of whiskey."

"Well," Charlie slung his backpack over his shoulders and unzipped the top pocket, "it's not whiskey. At least... I don't think it is," Charlie told Lawrence as he fished through his backpack, "It was at the very back of the cabinet and barely any of it's missing. I don't even know why my parents bought it if they weren't gonna drink it."

"That's what people with money do," Lawrence shrugged, "Buy themselves useless crap while the rest of us starve."

Charlie paused for a moment, keeping his eyes trained on his backpack. His parents may have had money, but he knew for certain they wouldn't allow anyone around them to starve. His parents were actually very charitable and made plenty of donations to the schools and art programs in the small community. In fact, between his dad's local business and his mother's local musings, Rose and Jack Dawson were rather liked, and slightly revered, in their tight knit community.

"This is what I got," Charlie finally pulled the bottle out from his backpack, holding it out towards Lawrence. The older boy stuck his cigarette between his chapped lips and took the bottle into his hand, inspecting the label.

Lawrence grinned and looked back to the small Dawson boy, "Nearly an entire bottle of tequila. Nice work, Charlie. Have you ever had tequila before?" Charlie only shook his head and Lawrence laughed, "It goes down nicely. Come on, let's go."

...

Charlie nearly fell off his bike three times as he was riding home shortly after two in the morning. The tequila is his belly radiated with warmth and his entire body felt looser than it ever had before. He couldn't believe his parents didn't drink that stuff every night. Charlie stumbled off his bike and wheeled it through the fence, quietly closing and locking it behind him. Charlie carelessly pushed his bike on top of his sister's and wandered over to the trellis. He climbed up without any fear of falling and walked along the edge of the roof like he was invincible. He hopped up onto his sill but clumsily lost balance and fell into his window, rolled off the bed, and plunked harshly onto the ground. Charlie couldn't help but smile and laugh to himself as he resigned himself to laying on the floor, the world spinning beneath him.

"I like my new friends..." Charlie grinned, closing his eyes. He fell asleep on the floor, fully clothed, and with his backpack still over his shoulders.


	12. Details Don't Matter

Chapter Twelve

_June 18th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

On Friday's, the office of _Dazzling People, Nature, and Art _shut down just after noon, eagered to get away from their desk, the constant ringing phones, and shouts of their frazzled deskmates. Today was extra special for the office and many employees buzzed on about the all-night happy hour they would all be having at the journalists and photographer's favorite local bar, The Leaky Bathtub. All of the spreads for the July edition of the magazine had finally been approved. All that remained for the next edition was final spell check and placing advertisements from local businesses strategically between stories.

Jack listened to the happy yells of his employees who were scrambling to get out of work to have a late lunch before their evening of unwinding at the bar. Jack was busy putting all of the important folders away to be referenced during the fiasco of the August edition that would be catching up to them in the next three weeks. He let out a long sigh, his knee aching and making his entire leg radiate. The only thing that plagued his mind was the disappearance of his cigarettes. That normally wouldn't bother him. But all he could envision was Charlie taking them, which he didn't want to believe was the case. It scared Jack to live in a household where he and Rose had to have everything locked down and their son's hands always sight. He didn't want to parent that way. He didn't want to distrust his children.

A light rap on his open office door, however, drew him over his shoulder. It was Eleanor. She was wearing a white and yellow striped dress that day. It had a swooped neckline that dipped precariously low to her bossom. She was wearing a matching yellow necklace that was gingerly tucked in between her breasts. When Jack had first saw her that morning, he thought she was dressed rather out of character and a little racy from her typical attire. He had chalked it up to the thought of having a new job, however, and wanting to make a decent impression. Eleanor grinned at him, gripping the strap of her purse slung over her shoulder.

"Are you ready?" She asked, rather eagerly.

"I think so," Jack nodded, looking over the drawer of files once more before promptly slamming it shut, "Let's go."

Eleanor lived in the general same direction as the Dawson's but the walk was a bit further. They passed by Jack's neighborhood and he glanced up the road. He didn't see the children or Rose out in the yard. Three more neighborhoods later, they came upon Eleanor's house, second from the entrance on the right. It was a neighborhood of smaller houses, typically two or three bedroom. They were much closer together, too, and Eleanor didn't have half the yard that Jack's house had. There was a large sturdy oak tree in her front yard, however, that cast relieving shade on the walk path leading towards her door. Eleanor was so giddy with delight as she unlocked the door and welcomed Jack into her home.

When Jack entered the house, he began soaking everything in. The entry foyer was small and compact with a table beside the door for keys, purses, and backpacks. Directly ahead was a cozy living room with a slanted ceiling and a red brick fireplace. Beside it, a large archway emptied into a modestly sized kitchen that had a booth built into the wall beneath a picture window overlooking a vacant backyard in need of a serious trimming and weeding. The kitchen wasn't nearly as large as Jack's, but it was quaint and had just the right amount of counterspace despite lacking an island. A large master bedroom was opposite the kitchen on the other side of the living room. In the front foyer, there was a narrow stairwell leading upstairs to a guest bedroom, a bathroom, and Ivan's bedroom. Eleanor set her purse on the table and gestured for Jack to follow her to the kitchen. He was still looking at everything, down to the art hanging on the walls, as he followed at her heels.

"Sit down, please," Eleanor told him, "Your leg must hurt from the walk."

"Oh, thank you," Jack nodded, brushing past her to squeeze into the booth, "I really took for granted the days I didn't have a wad of metal stuck in my knee," He laughed at himself as he gingerly laid his cane up against the wall. Eleanor set a kettle on the stove top and began gathering dishes and sugar cubes for some tea, "Is Ivan home?"

Eleanor paused and looked out the window above the sink, "No, I don't think so. His bicycle isn't on the side of the house."

"Do you know where he is?"

Eleanor laughed to Jack's surprise and shook her head, looking at her boss, "No. And I'm starting to give up on figuring out."

"It's probably better he's not here," Jack said, "We can speak more freely."

The kettle began to whistle and Eleanor focused on making the tea. Her son was recently a troublesome topic for her. It was her ticket to comfort, however, if it meant that Jack Dawson would spend time with her. Eleanor glanced towards Jack who was sitting at the kitchen table lost in the runnings of his thoughts. All Eleanor could imagine was the soft touch of his lips and gentle carress of his calloused hands.

"Rose told me something yesterday that I'd like to ask you about," Jack finally said.

Eleanor felt her heart pang at the mention of Rose. Rose Dawson had always been so warm and welcoming to her. The red headed woman effortlessly had included Eleanor in several "mom projects" for the school over the years. They had had lunch together. Rose had taken care of her son multiple times, watching him without ever asking for anything in exchange. But in that moment, Eleanor decidedly didn't care for Rose anymore. All she cared for was the patriarch of the Dawson family. He was the glue in that household and she wanted his magic for her's.

"What's that?" Eleanor lifted her eyes from making the tea.

"Does the name Lawrence Freedman ring a bell to you?" Jack asked.

Eleanor pondered the name for a moment and then shook her head, "No, it doesn't."

"Apparently the Freedman's are the newest family on the block," Jack elaborated, "And they have three troublesome boys who apparently do nothing but cause destruction. Their son, Lawrence, is the root of this problem, I think. I think he's the one who has Ivan and Charlie acting weird."

"What do you suggest we do?" Eleanor asked as she set a lemon wedge on the saucer and served Jack his tea. She slid into the booth with him and squeezed as close as she could to him without distracting him. Jack dropped a sugar cube into his tea and stirred slowly.

"I don't know..." Jack admitted, shaking his head, "I think it's just important we know his name."

"Maybe we should talk to the family?" Eleanor suggested, sipping her tea daintily.

Jack bit down on his lip for a moment and lowered his eyes. Eleanor took the moment to admire his tan skin, again finding herself lost in the contour of his neck muscles. Jack heaved a sigh and looked to Eleanor, "Maybe I'm prying too much but... have you noticed anything in your house has gone missing recently?"

Eleanor felt her heart beat thunderously at the question and she stalled by drinking more tea, "What do you mean?"

"I'm just asking because my pack of cigarettes is missing," Jack told her, "And Rose didn't take them. I really don't want to think Charlie did it but... I'm starting to question it," Jack shook his head, "What kind of father am I? Thinking my own child is a thief?"

Eleanor seized the moment. She reached her hand out, pressing her palm firmly to his thigh, "Jack, you're not a bad father. In fact, I think you're one of the greatest father's in the world."

"Well, I certainly don't feel like that," Jack told her, "It's already horrible I'm considering Charlie to be a thief... but it will be even worse if I'm right. Charlie's never taken anything from us before."

Eleanor's hand nearly quivered as she kept it pressed to his warm thigh. Eleanor nodded slowly, "Things have disappeared here, too."

"Really?" Jack immediately looked at Eleanor, "Like what?"

"It's unlady-like, but I smoke, too," Eleanor said, "I can't even keep cigarettes here anymore. It's like Ivan knows all of my hiding spots. And I had to put a lock on the liquor cabinet two weeks ago."

Jack felt his heart beat to a stop. The liquor cabinet in their dining room was only accessed a few times a year. The liquor bottles in there were reserved for birthdays, special guests, and celeboratory work occasions like Rose finishing a novel or Jack's magazine winning an award. Jack hadn't even thought to look at the liquor cabinet. Slowly, he felt the warmth of his body oozing out.

"You're missing... liquor?" Jack said, his mind spinning, "Your ten year old son is stealing liquor?"

Eleanor felt her cheeks flush and immediately tears sprung to her eyes, "I know! What kind of mother am I?! Just leaving that stuff laying around, _tempting _my boy like that..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jack shook his head. Immediately, he reached his arm around Eleanor's shoulder in the booth as she rubbed at the fresh tears running down her cheeks, "I didn't mean it like that, Eleanor, I just realized... I haven't checked my liquor cabinet."

"You're going to want to check that..." Eleanor croaked, still rubbing at her cheeks.

"Shit..." Jack muttered. Eleanor broke out into a cry now, catching him off guard.

"I'm scared, Jack! We need to talk to this Freedman family. I could understand Ivan's acting out, but it's crossing a line when a boy like Charlie Dawson starts partaking," As more hot salty tears brimmed her eyes, Eleanor lunged forward, pressing her face into Jack's chest. The smell of his faint cologne mesmerized her and she felt so much better pressed against him.

Without thinking, Jack allowed his arm to droop around Eleanor as she cried in his arms. He was so worried about what awaited him at home. Jack's heart beat harshly in his chest. He didn't want to think what he was thinking. And he certainly didn't want to open that cabinet and realize there was something missing...

...

When Jack returned home a little after three, he was exhausted mentally from his day. Eleanor had spent the rest of their time together crying and clinging to him. He felt bad for her, but he wasn't equipped to comfort her properly, he thought. If anything, his wanting to chat with her only upset her. He decided he would need to distance the topic with Eleanor to prevent any future problems emotionally with her.

Jack came flying through the front door. He spied Rose sitting at the kitchen island reading a magazine. She grinned and waved when he came in, but found herself perplexed as her husband made a direct bee line into the dining room.

"Jack?" Rose called, her voice plagued in confusion. Rose slid off of her stool, grabbing her mug of coffee as she went into the dining room. Jack was pushing a chair out of his way as he went to the far back wall where several landscape paintings by a local artist hung, "Jack, what are you doing?" Rose asked.

Jack didn't reply. Immediately, he threw open the cabinet doors to where they stored the special occasion liquor. Rose watched as Jack shuffled through the bottles, clanking them together. Some wobbled precariously. Rose watched as her husband inspected every label, disregarding them onto the dining room table. Bottle by bottle, he pulled them all out, cluttering them up together. He stopped, however, as the bottles thinned out in the cabinet. He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Jack," Rose appeared at his side, tenderly gripping his arm, "what is it?"

He started at her touch, looking at his wife slowly. Jack didn't want to say it. He didn't want to think it. He didn't want to put it out there into the universe because it would make it true and a present thought. Jack didn't want to entertain any of this, but the pieces were laying in front of him, begging to be made into a frame around the whole picture.

"Eleanor told me," Jack said slowly, his voice almost faltering, "that Ivan was stealing liquor from her house."

"What?" Rose was astounded.

Jack gazed into the nearly empty liquor cabinet, "We're missing a bottle of tequila and a bottle of gin."

"You don't think..."

"Where's Charlie?" Jack turned to Rose.

"He left about an hour ago on his bike," Rose told him, her heart rate spiking and her body becoming chilled at the thought, "He... he had a backpack on."

"Goddammit!" Jack sneered. He curled his hands into fists, "Did you see what he was up to today?"

"He was down here earlier," Rose replied as she intensely scrutinized the afternoon in her mind, combing over every detail, "He was in the dining room, but not for long. He told me he was looking for something for his train model. He thought he left it on the bookshelf right here."

Jack's nostrils flared and he was certain visible steam was coming out of his ears, "This cannot be happening to us right now, Rose," Jack began storming for the door.

"Jack!" Rose set her coffee down and grabbed his arm. He nearly towed her after him he was so angry and full of fight, "What are you doing!?"

"I'm going to find Charlie," Jack told her, his face hard as stone, "I'm going to bring him home and he's not going to leave his room for the rest of the damn summer!"

"Jack, wait, please," Rose gripped his arm tighter, preventing him from storming out of the house, "You can't just go find him and drag him back kicking and screaming."

"And why the hell not?!" Jack shot back, "I'm his father!"

"It will just make things worse," Rose said, shaking her head, "We need a better plan. If we come down too hard, he will just pull away faster."

"He's _stealing _from us!"

"We can't just go pointing our finger and blaming him immediately," Rose told him, "We need to have a serious honest-to-God conversation with him. We need to give Charlie a chance to confess to us, Jack," Her husband was quiet for a moment, his face pensive and unsure. Rose clutched his arm again, "Please, don't go looking for him, Jack. You're so angry right now and nothing good will come of it. Let's devise a game plan first. Please...?"

Jack sighed, lowering his head, "You're right... fine. Let me tell you everything I know..."

...

Charlie found himself in an alleyway of commercial buildings on the north side of Miles City. He never saw his parents on that side of town, so he considered himself relatively safe. Lawrence was sitting up on a trash can, Ivan on the ground with his back against a grimey brick wall. Both were smoking a cigarette. It was a rather odd sight for Charlie to see Ivan doing bad things.

"Hey, Charlie," Lawrence greeted. He tossed a crumpled up box of cigarettes which Charlie deftly caught. He turned the label upright in his palm, relieved to see it wasn't his father's. He felt relatively bad the next morning when they greeted him with smiles at the breakfast table, "That's your share."

"My share?" Charlie echoed, looking through his wild bangs at Lawrence.

"Yeah, you give a little, you get a little," Lawrence shrugged. The trash can creaked beneath the shifting of his large body, "You brought us that whole bottle of tequila, so that half a pack of cigarettes are all yours. Peter snagged 'em from his dad's smoke lounge. They're from India or something."

Charlie lowered his eyes to the label, following the orange stars stamped across the label. He then took his backpack off and reached into it, holding a bottle of gin, half-full, gleaming in the light. Lawrence hopped down from the trash can while Ivan came to his feet.

"Gin, huh," Lawrence took the bottle into his hand, his cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, "Nice brand, too. Good work, Charlie."

"Man, you better slow down," Ivan looked to Charlie, "Your parents are gonna start noticing the faster you take 'em. My mom caught on and she's put a lock on that cabinet now."

"We're gonna figure our way out around the locks," Lawrence assured him while jamming the gin into his backpack of already aplenty stolen relics, "In the mean time, though, he's right, Charlie. We got plenty for tonight and tomorrow. It's the weekend, boys."

"Yeah..." Charlie gripped his backpack straps on his shoulders and rocked back and forth in his boots, "What _are _we doing this weekend?"

"Peter and I got some really cool bottle rockets yesterday," Lawrence told Charlie as he heaved his heavy backpack over his thick shoulders, "We were gonna go to the high perch down by that fishing hole and fire them off at the little kids swimming. You in?"

Charlie was completely sold on the idea of bottle rockets, "Yeah, I'm in!"

"Cool," Lawrence nodded. He then glanced up and down the alleyway, "Well, I'll see you two later. Hang tight."

"Later," Charlie waved, nearly star struck by the type of leader Lawrence was.

...

Charlie was home just a little after four o'clock. He hopped off the side of his bicycle and pushed the gate open, allowing it to clack against the fence. As he wheeled his bike across the lawn, movement caught his attention and he looked over his handlebars to see both his parents sitting in the wicker chairs on the porch. In between them, a single ottoman sat. Charlie took his time laying his bike down beside Valentina's and didn't even bother to jog when he returned to close the gate. Nonchalantly, he came up the stairs onto the front porch.

"Were you guys waiting for me?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, why don't you sit down with us, bud?" His father waved his hand.

Charlie ached at the idea of a meeting with _both _his parents. He shuffled his feet for a few moments before he gave in. He crossed to the ottoman and plopped down, putting his hands in between his legs. Meekly, he looked between his mother and father. Neither had any kind of facial expression he could read.

"So, where're you coming back from?" Jack asked, reclining in his wicker chair. He reached for a small tumbler on the table between him and Rose, taking a sip of his whiskey and coke. Rose had made it for him to calm him down earlier. It had worked, but Jack still had that fire in his belly.

"I was with Ivan," Charlie told them, "We reconnected after we had lunch with his mom."

"Was it just you and Ivan?" Rose asked.

"No... it was a friend group meeting," Charlie said slowly, being sure to calculate his words and avoid any self-incriminating details. He dug his nails into his palms, _don't give any more information than what they ask for. Details don't matter, details don't matter..._

"Where were you guys hanging out?"

"Just at the park," Charlie replied, making a point to look directly at his mother. He paused and shifted his gaze to his father, "Are these questions goin' somewhere?"

"Yes, actually," Jack leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs. He held his tumbler loosely. Condensation dripped from the ends, staining into the porch wood, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about two missing bottles from the liquor cabinet, would you?"

Charlie froze in that moment. He had to tell himself manually to breath in and out. He almost fell like he was going to fall off that ottoman right that moment. Charlie's legs tightened, sandwiching his hands even tighter, as if to prevent his father from seeing his red hands. Jack set his tumbler on the table and shook his head, as if he completely understood.

"Why?" Jack asked sharply, "You're nine years old. What do you think liquor will do for you? I know what it will do for you; it'll kill your brain cells. And even so-"

"Dad, wait," Charlie held his hands up now, his heart beating ferociously in his chest. He had one shot to make this clear, "I... I wasn't stealing them to _drink _them."

Jack was clearly caught off guard. His voice faltered once before he managed to say, "What?"

"One of our friends got a BB gun for his birthday," Charlie explained, "I was takin' those bottles for him to shoot them. We wanted to watch them explode! The stuff inside of it smells like a science experiment gone wrong," Charlie wrinkled his nose up, "I just poured it all out in the grass."

Jack and Rose exchanged a look. Jack pensively licked his lips, "You're... certain, Charlie? You're not lying to me right now, are you?" Charlie shook his head, "Well, do you see how incriminating all of that made you look? Why didn't you just ask your mother or I for a glass container? Hell, I've got two dozens of milk bottles in the attic I was saving for an art project. Why don't you guys just use those? You wasted nearly twenty dollars worth of alcohol, Charlie."

"Sorry," Charlie shrugged sheepishly, "I didn't know that stuff was any good."

His parents smiled now. Charlie was in the clear. But deep inside his gut it ached. He felt rather terrible about acting deceiving and shady with his parents. It was the only way though he could continue to see the outside world and have, for once, an exhilerating summer break.


	13. Heart of Ashes

_Warning: Colorful language!_

Chapter Thirteen

_June 19th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

That morning as Rose prepared french toast for breakfast and Jack worked on squeezing oranges for juice, they both felt as if one immense weight had been lifted from their chest in regards to Charlie's possible drinking. The cigarettes, they decided, they could live with for the time being. Knowing the boys he was hanging out with were simply as ignornant of expensive alcohol as Charlie was, they thought they were doing the couple a favor clearing bottles that seemed to never be used in the eyes of a child. Jack wondered in the back of his mind if Eleanor had ever asked Ivan anything about missing liquor bottles.

Just as the couple were getting breakfast finally slung together, Valentina made her appearance. She was wearing a beach robe and sandals, her hair already braided back for the day. She thanked her mom for her plate and seated herself at the table. Jack set an orange juice down beside her and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"Are you going swimming today?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," Valentina nodded after a swig of juice, "Melody, Oliver, and I are going down to the fishing hole. It's supposed to be really hot and the water is high enough to get into!"

"That sounds like fun!" Rose grinned, setting Charlie's plate down to await his arrival. Rose was pleased to hear Valentina wouldn't spend the whole day cooped up inside practicing her trumpet, "Do you want me to pack you some snacks?"

"Oh, yeah," Valentina nodded, "Especially fruit. Do we have strawberries?"

"Well, of course," Rose laughed as she leaned into the ice chest and held the small wicker crate up, "You're the only one who is eating these, Tina."

"Just dump 'em into my backpack, I'll take them all," Valentina grinned. Rose laughed again and shook her head. Daintly, she made a small pile of the strawberries on a gingham linen and gingerly tied a knot off on the top. She brought it to the table, setting it beside Valentina, "Thanks, Momma."

"Have fun today, darling," Rose said softly.

Valentina left shortly after ten o'clock. She and her friends were eager to get a good spot that wasn't on the rocks, which made it unenjoyable to sit down. Jack was taking his time basking in all the morning light bleeding through the bay windows down onto the kitchen table. He read the _Miles City Tribune _slowly, relishing weekend mornings when he could take his time. Rose came back into the kitchen after seeing Valentina off and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Charlie's still not up yet."

"Well, let's wake him," Jack said, folding the newspaper up, "It's a beautiful day!"

"I'll go get him," Rose told him, already walking for the archway. She paused and looked over her shoulder, "Could you maybe throw his breakfast back in the pan so it's warm?"

"Roger," Jack nodded, hopping from his seat.

The clunk of her heels were loud. She was sure he would be awake by the time she made it down the hallway to him. Rose knocked gently and leaned her head in to hear any shifting, "Charlie?" She said, knocking once more. After no noises became apparent, Rose opened the door. When she walked in and peered over his mess of a train collection, she spied him still in bed. His window was open, allowing a soft draft in.

"Good morning, Charlie," Rose greeted, leaning against the wall on her arm. Charlie stirred and rubbed his eyes, looking at his mother groggily, "How late were you up last night? Were you playing with your trains again?"

"Mom, it's summer time," Charlie squinted as he adjusted to the light. His hair was molded upwards, "There's no schedule for anything."

"Well, I'm certainly not about to allow you to sleep the whole day away," Rose peeled the quilts back on his body. Charlie was glad he had changed back into his pajamas when he came home after two in the morning again, "Get up and take a bath. Scrub your face, under your arms, the works. It's a nice day outside. Got any plans?"

"Yeah, actually," Charlie grinned, sitting up now and stretching out, "In the early afternoon."

"Don't keep them waiting," Rose told him as she went into his attached bathroom and turned the faucet on. Slowly she adjusted the temperature just right and watched it fill the porcelain claw foot tub, "I want you smelling fresh when you come out, alright?"

"Got it," Charlie nodded as he trudged in, kicking the door shut behind him.

...

The bike path Lawrence said to take for the high perch at the fishing hole was extremely tiresome. A lot of his was an uphill climb and Charlie strained his legs pedaling enough to make it to the next crest. He finally breathed in relief, however, when he spotted Ivan, Peter, and Lawrence's bikes tangled up in the tall wheat grass off the trail. Charlie came to a skidding stop, kicking rocks up to announce his presence.

The boys were hunched on the edge of the small cliff. Charlie came over to see they were digging wooden dowels into the ground. When he spied a rocket sitting beside Lawrence he zipped towards it, but the older boy slapped his hand away.

"Hey, these aren't like those pesky dumb fireworks you're used to handlin'," Lawrence told him, barely throwing him a second glance as he manuevered his dowel back and forth in the mushy mud from the morning dew, "These have a lot of gunpowder in them. They can pop whenever they want to, just 'cause it doesn't like the way you're jerking it around."

"Yeah, they're _live, _Charlie. Like the land mines they used in the Great War."

"I know what you mean," Charlie nodded, "One exploded in front of my dad and some of the metal from the casing on the bomb got stuck in his knee and that's why he has a cane."

"That's kind of cool," Peter nodded, "My dad was deemed too old to serve. Pretty lame. My brother never left America durin' that time. Always said he was gonna get his forged papers and get over there to fight for the cause, but... he was chickenshit."

"Forget about all that," Ivan waved his hand dismissively, "Look how many kids are down there! It's perfect!"

Charlie leaned over the edge for a moment but saw Ivan with his eyes on him. His heart rate spiked and he immediately back pedaled out of Ivan's reach, "Yeah, there's a lot of them," Charlie paused for a moment and shifted his feet back and forth, "These aren't gonna hurt anyone, right?"

"Well," Lawrence shrugged after he finished securing the final dowell, "that's not my decision to make."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, furrowing his brow.

"I dunno how they're gonna explode," Lawrence looked up from cutting string, "I don't know who they're gonna hit. And... I don't really care," He smiled before he returned to his task of winding the string around the rockets, securing them to the dowels.

Ivan and Peter joined in on the task, leaving Charlie to simply watch. Delicately, the boys made small knots to secure the bottle rockets. Charlie had always wanted to play with these explosives but his parent's had never allowed anything like that in their house. Every fourth of July was just small poppers and sparklers. Charlie wandered towards the edge of the cliff again, watching the children frolick in the water down below. The shrill shrieks of the kids reached his ears, along with the splashing of water. He watched a girl with vibrant blonde hair wander back on shore, laughing about something. That's when Charlie felt his entire body freeze. He thought he recognized that blonde girl and now he knew why. She plopped down on a towel beside her friends and the one directly beside her was Valentina.

"Oh no," Charlie whispered to himself, his eyes locked on his sister. He turned back towards the boys. Lawrence was divying up matches, "Hey, guys," Charlie came towards the group. Lawrence handed him a match, "Seriously... this isn't going to really _hurt _anyone, is it?"

"I dunno," Lawrence shrugged, "I don't really care, either."

"Why're you bein' a wet blanket?" Peter scowled, "Move outta the way before someone notices us!"

"Charlie, get next to your bottle rocket!" Ivan ordered, waving his hand furiously.

Charlie nearly gulped audibly. He turned to look back over the cliff. Valentina and her jazz mate buddies, Oliver and Melody, were laid out on their towels, laughing up a storm about something. Ivan grew impatient and came to stand beside Charlie. He was about to give him a shove when he turned his head in the direction of Charlie's. He paused and grinned rather wickedly.

"Oh, I see the problem," Ivan began to laugh, turning back towards their frustrated friends, who were at the ready to launch the bottle rocks, "Charlie's sister is down there!"

It was Lawrence's turn to smile now. He came to his feet and joined Charlie and Ivan near the edge of the perch, "Well, ain't she easy to pick out," Lawrence said, "What's her name?"

"Tina..." Charlie mumbled, crunching his boots into the parched grass.

"_Valen_tina," Ivan corrected him.

"Valentina," Lawrence echoed, arching his eyebrows, "Must be a negro name."

"Don't call her that!" Charlie curled his hands into fists, snapping the match he had been given, "Call her by her name or don't call her anything at all."

"God, you're so sensitive," Lawrence laughed, "Lighten up. Don't act like you don't notice. Whatever, she's not gonna get hurt. Besides, her dark skin will hide it."

Charlie ground his teeth together, "You don't have to be such an asshole."

Lawrence paused, cocking his head at Charlie, "What'd you just call me?"

"You... you heard me," Charlie nodded his head, doing his best to keep his bravery inflated.

"You think _I'm _an asshole?" Lawrence withdrew a cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear. Deftly he lit his match and cherried the end of it, "You know whose the real asshole, _Charles_?" Charlie didn't say anything. He only unsteadily held eye contact with the older boy, "All the adults in this country. The so-called "leaders". They don't do anythin' but bring us young people down. So, we've got to send a message loud and clear. And that message, _our _mission statement is: you fuck with us, we'll fuck you. Got it, Charlie?"

"But..." Charlie nearly felt lightheaded, "if this is about getting to the adults, why are we hurting people our age? Aren't they supposed to be part of the mission?"

"You really don't get it," Lawrence shook his head, walking back towards his bottle rocket with a plume of smoke trailing after him, "You don't start at the top, Charlie. You bang on the chains of the ones buried down with you. You light a fire and then it's like a gas oven. It only rises from there," Lawrence stuck his cigarette between his lips, glancing to Charlie from beneath his brown bangs, "I suggest you get the hell out of the way."

In one deft move, Lawrence lit the short fuse on the bottle rocket. Charlie gasped sharply and hit the deck, little rocks jabbing him all over his torso. The bottle rocket squealed and the wooden dowel wiggled as the spark began to light. Charlie lifted his head and watched as the bottle rocket launched, easily breaking free from the string. It spiraled down the side of the cliff and all the boys clambered to the edge to witness the outcome. The rocket was heading straight towards the water where a dozen heads were bobbing. Shortly before making to the surface, the bottle rocket exploded, raining green and blue sparks down over the water. Down below the cries of kids rang out and they scattered in the water. Peter scrambled and lit the next bottle rocket.

Charlie watched in sheer horror as the next bottle rocket zoomed down below exploding just over the shoreline where more children screamed and ran. Charlie watched as Valentina, Melody, and Oliver began climbing to their feet, looking on in confusion. It was their turn to run, however, as Ivan lit the next bottle rocket. Valentina held her hands up over her head and she darted out the gate on the heels of her friends, their beach towels and tote bags momentarily forgotten.

"And the finale!" Lawrence grinned, striking a match and firing the bottle rocket that was meant to be Charlie's. It whizzed just over Charlie's head, making the boy recoil downwards, bumping his chin against a rock. The bottle rocket spiraled out of control, crashing into a large pine tree nearby, the cast a cool shadow on the far end of the fishing hole. The bottle rocket exploded and the tree branches lit up in flames.

"Oh no!" Charlie came to his knees, his eyes growing wide as a saucer, "We should get the firemen!"

"Not our job," Lawrence waved his hand dismissively. He slung his ratty backpack over his shoulder and began towards his bike, "Let's get outta here 'fore someone connects some dots. Peter, throw the dowels off the cliff. Everyone split up, but don't take the same trail down. Go down the mountain and hope for the best. Later," Lawrence jerked his bike from the mangled mess and hopped on, immediately disappearing behind some rocks.

Peter and Ivan were gone in a flash, leaving Charlie standing there on the perch, gazing down at the fishing hole. The tree was slowly becoming more consumed in the flames. Some branches had already fallen into the water, too weak to hold on. Smoke rose from the recreational area. Charlie hurt deep inside, watching that large pine tree burn away. He had watched it grow taller for years. His eyes followed the shoreline, looking at all the forgotten stuff. The view of the vacant fishing hole pained Charlie. Distantly, he heard the siren of the fire department. Quickly, he turned and hopped on his bike, pedaling fiercly through the dense forest.

...

Jack and Rose took the alone time to go to the farmer's market just a few blocks over in the neighborhood park. They had already accumulated a fair basket full of carrots with luscious green leaves, royal purple cabbages, large Idaho potatoes, fresh apples and pears, and a loaf of sourdough bread. They were smiling over their wares as they wandered further down the aisle of booths. They bought avocados and then white onions.

"What about that bakery booth?" Jack asked, giving Rose a nudge as she organized their wicker basket. Rose looked up, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Oh, I don't know," Rose shook her head, glancing towards her husband, "I already have Coca-Cola at the house. I don't think we need a baker's dozen of cookies, too."

Jack laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist, "Oh, come on," Jack grinned, giving her a squeeze on her hip, "It's summertime and they're kids! Let 'em live a little!"

"Say that to me when their teeth are black and falling out," Rose said, turning her head to the side.

"So, we're in agreeance," Jack nodded, "A baker's dozen of macadamia nut cookies, right?"

"Jack," Rose threw her head back and laughed and he relished in the noise, only squeezing her closer despite the basket of goodies between them, "Look at all this wonderful food we already have. I could cook really nice hardy meals out of this."

"You know," Jack shifted his feet and leaned against his cane for a bit more support, "I remember it being 1912... and you couldn't cook for shit. Now look at you, a five start chef. A snooty one, at that!"

"Someone has to keep standards in that household!" Rose said, mockingly defiant, "If it were up to Charlie, he'd have a bowl of ice cream for dinner and an apple pie for dessert!"

"Yeah, and Valentina would only eat those maltballs she loves so much," Jack grinned, "Is there anything in the basket you're going to _bake _with, at least?"

"Yes," Rose nodded, shifting through the produce. She procured a shiny red apple, holding it up to Jack, "Apple tarts."

"Alright, good enough," Jack nodded, "You're off the hook from the bakery booth this time."

Slowly, the couple began walking again, merging into the flow of traffic at the rather bustling farmer's market. The couple walked past the bakery booth and Rose flashed a grin his direction, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're the guilty party who wants a cookie for a midnight snack."

"I maintain my innocence," Jack told her. He was about to say more when someone shouted his name. Jack and Rose paused and turned, "Oh, hey, Eleanor."

Eleanor had her long curly blonde hair free on her shoulders. She was wearing a green dress with red trimming; the most fashionable summer dress combo the season had proved to Rose in the magazines. She grinned widely, her ruby red lips gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"Hello you two," Eleanor waved. Her basket contained much less. Some homemade whoopie pies from a confectioner's booth and a loaf of white bread, "Long time, no see," She joked, looking towards Jack.

"Yeah, no kidding," Jack laughed politely, "Kids were outta the house this morning, so we decided to get some stuff done."

"Same here," Eleanor nodded, "It's such a beautiful day, too."

"We've been lucky this summer," Rose chimed in. Eleanor barely even looked towards her, "I'm glad it's dryer than last year."

"Yeah, last summer was miserable," Jack agreed, nodding his head at Rose.

"Jack, was there any work you needed me to do for the office over the weekend?" Eleanor asked.

"Oh," Jack arched his eyebrows, "Don't worry about that, Eleanor. The weekend's are our time off. I would have given you more notice if there was something that needed to be done today. Don't even think about the office until Monday."

"Well, you know, I've been working as a secretary in the filing business for nearly fifteen years. I have a lot of ideas on ways to revolutionize our filing system at the office. It will make things so much more cohesive and easier. Could I maybe have some time with you this weekend to pick your brain?" Eleanor asked, gripping her basket tightly in her hand.

"I really appreciate you eager attitude," Jack told her gently, "But really, this is your off-time. We'll talk about a new filing system on Monday, I promise."

"Alright," Eleanor nodded, concealing any disappointment, "I'll see you Monday, then. Take care!" She waved, glancing fleetingly towards Rose before she began on her way. The couple began on their way out from the neighborhood park.

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said she was dedicated," Rose said with arched eyebrows, "I've never seen Eleanor so high-strung."

"That's how she normally is," Jack replied, "She likes to laugh and talk a lot."

"She used to be so quiet..." Rose furrowed her brow, "She reminded me of Freida."

"Well," The couple paused just outside the gates of the small park, "I don't quite get that impression. Sounds like we know two different versions of Eleanor."

Rose was about to respond when the loud and crackled noise of a cranked horn rang out. Jack and Rose turned their heads, watching as the town's only fire engine rolled by quickly, several men geared up and dangling off the side of it. The town was so small that slowly residents began to gather in the wake of the fire truck, interested to see what was taking place. Jack and Rose stepped off the sidewalk and entered the vacant street. The cocked their heads out from the tree cover to discover a dark plume of smoke rising in the air not too far away. A man jogged past the couple.

"Hey," Jack called, making him paused, "what's goin' on?"

"There's a fire at the fishing hole!" The man told him, panting. He whirled around and began running again.

"The fishing hole?!" Rose exclaimed, her body flooded in a chill, "Jack, that's where Valentina was going today!" Quickly, she handed the basket off to Jack and began to hurry away. She paused and looked over her shoulder, "Find Charlie."

Jack nodded and turned in the opposite direction of Rose, walking as swiftly as he could.

...

As Rose got closer to the fishing hole, the town became plagued in gray smoke. Rose's eyes watered as she walked against it. She saw the flashing lights of the fire truck ahead. There was a large crowd formed, many people watching in horror. Rose paused to look beyond the fire truck to see four large pine trees engulfed in flames. Rose turned her attention towards a sheriff who was pointing a civilian in another direction.

"Excuse me," Rose said, darting towards him, "My daughter was here today. Has anyone seen the children?"

"All the children are being held at the old woman's house at the first block corner from here. Yellow house, red shutters. The woman shelterin' them is Shelly Bisson."

"Thank you," Rose said, her mouth growing parched from the smoke. Rose hurried back up the street, spotting the house that matched the description from the sheriff. She nearly leapt up the stairs, desperate to see Valentina immediately. She rapped on the door, waiting impatiently.

An old woman with ashen hair piled atop her head answered the door. She was wearing a long sleeve white button up with a broach pinned to the collar. It was tucked into a high waisted blue skirt with white embroidery along the hem.

"Are you Shelly Bisson?" Rose asked.

"Are you looking for your child?" The woman asked sweetly, "Come inside, dear. The smoke is not good for your complexion," She ushered Rose through the door. The house was very old-fashioned with its cloth wallpaper embellished in floral designs and tall cabinents for ornate china that had probably never been used, "Now," Shelly said, fluffing her beehive of hair, "which child is yours?"

"Valentina, is she here?" Rose asked hurriedly.

"Is she the one who talks about trumpets?" Shelly began to lead Rose through the dining room that attached to a long hallway.

"Yes, that should be her," Rose nodded, relieved, "Thank goodness she's here."

Shelly took Rose to an archway that opened up into a spacious lounge room with a red brick fireplace and large picture windows that were fogged in smoke. Rose felt her heart leap when she saw Valentina sitting in her bathing suit on an ottoman. Valentina's eyes lit up and she got to her feet, immediately wrapping her arms around her mom.

Rose squeezed her tightly before she began inspecting her arms, "Are you hurt?"

"No," Valentina shook her head, "I'm fine."

Rose enveloped Valentina again, pressing the child against her. Rose looked over her shoulder with tears brimming her eyes, "Thank you, Mrs. Bisson. Thank you."

...

The smoke of the incident was slowly began to waft all the way to the Dawson's house. Jack carelessly threw the basket of produce on their porch and walked with brisk purpose out the gate. It seemed like all of Miles City was out on the streets wondering what was going on. Jack gawked at every child he passed, being sure to jog to catch the face of children on bikes.

When Jack stepped onto the main road just outside of their neighborhood, he glanced in the direction of the fishing hole. The smoke had gotten darker which meant the firefighters hadn't put it out yet. Jack gripped his cane tightly, _Where the hell is Charlie?!_

As Jack walked towards the downtown park, the crowds of people grew thicker. He had to press himself past people, hurried to lay eyes on the well-being of his son. Silently, Jack thought of Rose, hoping she had located Valentina. Jack walked briskly, hopeful that Charlie was there. His son was a creature of habit and Jack could only pray that today was no different.

Sure enough, as the park came into view, Jack spied Charlie standing on a park bench, gawking at the sky. His bike was left discarded in the dirt. Jack blinked his eyes against the dry smoke drifting past as he burst through the final bits of crowd, "Charlie!"

His son's head snapped his direction. When Charlie saw his father, he leapt from the bench, racing towards his father, "Dad! Valentina... where is she?!"

"Your mother's down there," Jack assured him.

Charlie had tears brimming his eyes as the smoke in the area stung his lungs as harshly as those Indian cigarettes Lawrence had given him. Charlie had always been deeply connected with nature. To see it burning in his town shook him to his core.

"We should go home and wait for them," Jack said, "Grab your bike."

Charlie nodded and sniffled, turning towards his bike. He reached down to grab it as the salty tears began down his cheeks. He felt lower than the lowest depths of the ocean. The commotion in the streets rattled him. Charlie wanted nothing more than for the smoke to dissipate and to see his sister back at home. Charlie wheeled his bike over to his father and the Dawson boys walked home side by side amidst the darkening smoke of Miles City.


	14. Even Ground

Chapter Fourteen

_June 19th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The fire department had the fire under more control when Valentina and Rose departed from the kind old woman's house half an hour later. The smoke was still rather dreadful, but the Dawson girls walked with their backs to it. Rose draped her arm around Valentina's shoulders as they walked for the first few minutes in silence.

"Momma, this is awful," Valentina finally said, still staring straight ahead, "This wasn't just an accident."

"What do you mean?" Rose peered down at her daughter, "What happened?"

Valentina's sandals crunched over some pebbles loose on the street and she sighed, shaking her head, "We were all just having a good time, Momma. It was a beautiful day, the weather was just right, the water was _perfect,_" Valentina paused for a moment and looked up at her mother, "Someone started throwing firecrackers at us. I don't know from where, but it was from a really high point. They started coming down and everyone started running from the water. And then there was another one of those pops and... a tree was on fire."

"Someone was purposely throwing fireworks onto all of you?" Rose asked, furrowing her brow, "You didn't see anyone that seemed unusual, did you?"

"Whoever was firin' them wasn't really in the fishing hole," Valentina shook her head.

...

Jack returned to the front porch to find his boy glued to the same spot. He was gripping the railing of the porch tightly and standing on the tips of his toes to see over the hedges. The dark smoke barrelled through the town masking what began as a beautiful day. Jack seated himself in a wicker chair and stared at the back of Charlie for a moment.

"Charlie, why don't you sit down and drink some water?" Jack suggested, holding a glass out towards him, "It's not good for you to be inhaling all of this smoke."

Nervously, Charlie tore his eyes away from the street and complied with his father. He seated himself and took an unsteady drink of water. He perked up when he saw movement beyond their fence, but was disappointed to see it was the elderly couple from down the street, hurrying away from the commotion not too far off on the main street.

"Shouldn't they be back by now?" Charlie asked, looking towards Jack.

Jack was doing everything in his power to remain composed and patient. He wanted nothing more than to see the well-being of his daughter and the assuring look of his wife. Jack did his best to focus on wanting a cigarette or needing a drink. He looked at his son, with his flushed cheeks and worried composure.

"Give them some more time," Jack replied.

"But... shouldn't we go looking for them?" Charlie continued, "What if Valentina is still in the fishin' hole?! What if Mom couldn't find her? What-"

"Charlie," Jack sat forward, pressing his hand to his son's knee, "now is not the time for a hyopthetical question bowl. We shouldn't go looking for them yet. What if we leave and they come back? Then they'll wander out to find us. It's better if we stay put. Have some faith in your mom and sister."

Charlie wasn't able to remain seated for long. He set his glass down and went to the railing again, gawking up at the smoke billowing past. He ran over the words Lawrence had said to him. The vulgar sharp words resonated deeply inside him.

"Where have you been today?" Jack asked, drawing Charlie away from the street again.

"Just at the park," Charlie told him, his go-to excuse, "I was with Ivan."

"What were you two doing?"

Charlie was quiet for a moment, "Just skippin' rocks... climbin' trees... like we normally do."

His father only nodded and then went quiet. Slowly, Charlie turned back towards the street, his blood pulsating in his ears. After a few moments, a vibrant shade of red caught Charlie's attention. Valentina, donned in her swimsuit, alongside Rose, entered the neighborhood, talking quietly with their arms draped around each other.

"Mom! Valentina!" Charlie shouted, catching their attention. The young boy bounded off the porch and raced towards the fence as Rose opened it, "Thank God you're alright, Tina!"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Valentina nodded, "I lost my beach bag, though."

"That's alright," Rose smiled, setting her hand on Valentina's shoulder, "We can replace that but we certainly cannot replace you."

...

It was nearing midnight when Jack and Rose found themselves on the back porch that night, beer, wine, and cigarettes gathered between them on the outdoor table. The noises of night time chirped all around the couple as they finally came down from the day they had had. The smoke covering Miles City had thinned, but the distant smell of charred pine made it to their nose every few moments, reminding them of the afternoon that had caught them off-guard.

Jack was reclined in his chair, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He inhaled slightly, the end lighting up, "I think he's lying, Rose."

"About what?" Rose asked, turning her eyes on her husband. She had been staring at the cluster of stars belting above the dark looming mountains.

"About his whole damn summer," Jack replied, lowering the cigarette from his lips. He let out a long sigh, exhaling a plume of smoke. He readjusted his head that rest lazily against the cushion of his chair, "Even if he's not lying... he's not telling the whole truth. This new group of friends... it's all too convienent, Rose. We're lying to ourselves if we say Charlie's not messed up with Lawrence Freedman."

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" Rose took a small sip of wine, "I'm all ears."

Jack tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette and then rubbed at his face deeply, sighing in exasperation yet again, "I don't even know..."

Rose looked back out towards the darkened beauty of Miles City, "We're losing control, Jack."

Jack was quiet for a moment, inspecting the hazy ribbon of smoke peeling away from his cigarette, "You know... a really bad thought crossed my mind today."

"What's that?"

Jack looked at Rose, "I think Charlie had something to do with that fire today."

"What?" Rose furrowed her brow, "_Our _own son?"

"I know," Jack took a sip of his sweaty beer, "Like you said, though: No parent wants to admit their kid is bad."

"Charlie may be mischevious but there's no way I could ever believe Charlie was apart of that fire," Rose told him, "Jack, he loves nature. How could I believe that the boy who draws me beautiful landscapes is also _burning _them down?"

"I'm not saying it was his intent," Jack adjusted himself in his chair, "I just think he knows more than he lets on. Lets wait for the fire department's ruling. They said they'd be speaking at Town Hall about it tomorrow right before noon."

Rose sighed and sank into her chair, holding her wine glass close. They were silent for a few moments, only the cicadas could be heard. Rose took a long drink of her wine, "What if you're right, Jack?" She shook her head, her eyes glassy as she stared out at the darkness surrounding them, "I'm watching my little boy change so rapidly right before my very eyes."

"Yeah..." Jack nodded, smoke trailing from his lips, "People think the toddler stage is a nightmare... puberty is a whole new level."

"I think we should meet the Freedman's," Rose said, sitting up in her chair and pouring herself another glass of wine. She didn't sleep anywhere in her forseeable future, "Maybe there's something we can do."

"I dunno," Jack shrugged, finishing off his beer and opening another, "It could go wrong in so many ways."

"I have a better idea then," Rose declared, setting her wine glass on the table. Jack lifted his red eyes towards his wife. He saw she was ready to give a presentation and he sat up in his chair, taking a long drink of his beer, "When I was talking with Maggie and Betty, they wanted to do option A: Confronting the parents," Rose explained, "But, like you said, it could go wrong at the drop of a hat. So, what if, we throw a neighborhood-wide party?"

"You mean from Evergreen Terrace all the way to Blossom Lane?" Jack's eyebrows knitted together, "Rose, that's six blocks and who knows how many houses. The biggest you three have ever done is a block party."

"Oh, but a neighborhood-wide party will require a larger planning committee than just Betty, Maggie, and I," Rose replied with a grin, "Denise Holland over on River Row Ave loves to plan socials, oh, and Reese van Maan over there on Blossom Lane. Can't forget Penelope Hargaver either, can we? And, of course, Eleanor Greene. Perhaps I could get Mrs. Freedman to join us, too."

Jack was quiet for a moment. Rose could see he was contemplating. Finally, he licked his lips and said, "So, you do all of this for what? Just to put some eyes on who we're dealing with? Doesn't that seem a little elaborate, Rose?"

"It's not just about getting a visual," Rose replied after a curt sip of wine, "It's about forging a connection, Jack. Who knows how many towns they've tried to live in with those boys. How many times do you think those people were confronted with a biligerent parent on their front porch? Don't you think a better approach, one they're not expecting, would be coming with arms wide open?"

"So... we make friends with them and that's the answer to fixing Charlie's acting out?"

"I think it could open a variety of options," Rose told him.

"Why not just ground him?" Jack shrugged. Rose gave him a look.

"You know that's not my style," Rose replied, still grinning softly.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack laughed, reclining in his chair again and lighting another cigarette, "You're a mother of justice."


	15. Knock 'em Dead

Chapter Fifteen

_June 22nd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

"Alright, Momma! We're leavin'!" Valentina yelled from the front foyer. Rose had been in the kitchen preparing to start making a cake for the family. She had just finished cleaning up from the rather large breakfast of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage links. Rose patted her hands down on a kitchen linen, disregarding it carelessly on the island as she hurried into the front foyer. Valentina was wearing one of her best dresses. It was an olive green silk dress with a black velvet waistband and tulle hemming that gave her a graceful look that flowed with her tall slender body. Beside her was Jack, wearing a dark red shirt tucked in with his typical suspenders. He had been admiring Valentina with a grin as her trumpet case dangled at her side.

"You look marvelous!" Rose exclaimed. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and then adjusted the green bows in her braids. Gently, she readjusted the tulle that fluffed from her shoulders. Rose's smile was ear to ear, "You're as cute as a button! The judges will love you."

"It's not a fashion contest, Momma," Valentina laughed bashfully beneath her parent's adoring gaze, "It's all about the music."

"Well, you're going to wow them in every way imaginable!" Rose said, hugging Valentina tightly again, "Good luck, darling."

"Thanks, Momma."

"Alright, let's get a move on," Jack said, opening the door, "We gotta get you registered. We'll be back this afternoon," Jack pecked Rose on the lips as Valentina lugged her trumpet case out onto the porch, "I'm gonna take her out for lunch, too, so don't worry about feeding us."

"Sounds good," Rose grinned, rubbing his arm, "I love you."

"Love you, too," Jack replied as he closed the door behind him. Rose stood at the bay window in the dining room as she watched Jack and Valentina begin their walk for the music hall. Valentina was talking animatedly with her father, who was grinning widely as he listened to her speak. It warmed Rose's heart greatly.

Once they were out of sight, Rose sighed and looked towards the stairs. Charlie hadn't left the house since the fire. He was constantly moping about and he wasn't interested in anything. Rose went upstairs to find Charlie laying in the window nook up the tall ladder in the library, staring vacantly at the mountains in the distance with its tall pine trees leading towards them.

"Hey, you," Rose said, wandering through the door. Charlie peered down at her, "It's just you and me this afternoon. Do you want to spend some time with me? I was going to make a strawberry cake for Valentina. I'll let you lick the utensils."

"That's alright..." Charlie mumbled, settling back into his cozy nook, "I just want to sit up here."

Rose looked at her son sadly. After a moment, she turned on her heels and left Charlie to himself at the top of the ladder in the library.

...

_June 20th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

_ Jack and Rose had left the children at home. Together, the couple made the half mile walk towards the town hall of Miles City. It was a beautiful building with terra cotta brick and charming gingerbread woodwork along its old decorative wooden pillars. The circular red brick plaza was crowded with the many adults of Miles City. Like Jack and Rose, they were startled by the aggressive fire that would leave a lasting mark on the beautiful greenery surrounding the town sandwiched between all the mountains._

_ The Dawson's stood on the outer edge of the crowd, looking towards the large balcony of the town hall where their mayor, an elderly man by the name of Edgar Bentley, was consulting with a team of nicely dressed men. Jack glanced fleetingly towards the sea of familiar faces. He and Rose were heavily involved in the community and were on a first name basis with more than half the population of Miles City. Between Rose's literary career and Jack's magazine business, they were a highly regarded couple, deemed the saving grace of the town's dwindling art scene._

_ "Ladies and gentlemen!" Mayor Bentley's airy voice filled the plaza, sending a hush amongst the residents, "I know we've gathered here today under an anxious precedent. I know we're unsettled by the jarring afternoon we had yesterday. What began as a beautiful summer day, quickly turned dark when a popular hang-out spot became the victim of a large and damaging fire. I know many parents who had children down there are here for answers and reassurance. As your mayor, I can promise you both. First, I'm sure you'd like the facts. I have here with me today the Miles City Fire Chief, Mr. Dom Elders. He is going to speak now and afterwards will be available for questions... Mr. Elders?"_

_ Mayor Bentley stepped away from the railing as a tall man with wide shoulders and arms the sizes of tree trunks stepped forward. He was one of the tallest men in the small sleepy mountain-side town. He easily made the rest of the men joining him look smaller than an average American woman. Dom shook hands with the mayor before he turned his attention to the waiting crowd._

_ "Like Mayor Bentley said, I'm Dom Elders, Fire Chief," His voice was thick and burley, just like his large body suggested, "Yesterday, around 1:43pm, we were alerted by a resident of smoke billowing from the local fishing hole. When we arrived, we were greeted by two pine trees that were on fire that was quickly spreading to a third. It took my men three and a half hours to get the fire under control. It's been a dry season for us this year and pine is easily combustible under the right circumstances. The Miles City Fire Department spent the rest of the evening combing the fishing hole for any clues as to what caused this dastardly fire," Dom paused and turned towards another man, who was holding something out towards him. Dom took it into his hands and held it up, "You may not be able to tell from here, but these are charred remains of what we determined to be bottle rockets. These aren't your average fireworks, certainly not anything we've seen for sale at the Miles City Booth Market. These bottle rockets contained live gun powder, they were certainly no toy to be trifled with. We're not certain where these bottle rockets came from and we are at even more of a loss as to who could see the pleasure in firing these bottle rockets down onto innoncent children playing in the water. To speak more on the investigation, I would like to have the Police Chief talk, Mr. William Anderson."_

_ A smaller man stepped forward now, "We're looking closely at the remnants of these bottle rockets for any clues as to where they were manufactured and shipped to. I know your children may be upset, but we are asking for several of them to please come down to the police station and speak with us. We are hopeful someone saw something suspcious that could lead us in the right direction. Currently, all we know is that the bottle rockets were launched from the vantage point, known as Bird's Perch, that overlooks the fishing hole. Any information your child may have, we encourage them to speak with us. The fishing hole will be closed for the remainder of the summer for the safety of our residents while we clean it up and do new landscaping on it. The Bird's Perch hiking trail is also closed for the time being. We appreciate everyone's compliance during this time and I want to assure everyone that we are safe. Any further concerns should be directed to Mrs. Ramona Gotz, the secretary of the Police Department. Thank you."_

_ Jack and Rose looked to each other and said nothing. Their eyes said it all._

_..._

_June 22nd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Rose recounted that day vividly as she began pouring her ingredients together to make her batter for Valentina's cake. When Fire Chief Elders had announced it was bottle rockets, Rose felt her heart sink. It was just like when it was discovered that fireworks had been the cause of the devastating fire at the Bertman's farm. It only hurt Rose more to know Charlie may have been involved this time. Rose refused to completely blame Charlie, however. It was evident he knew something by the way he had basically grounded himself. Rose couldn't bring herself to sit down with Charlie and discuss it. His anxious fidgety attitude rendered it nearly impossible, anyway.

As she lost herself in the task of baking, she brainstormed ways to get through to her son. He had had a rough start to summer, but Rose was convinced he could turn it around with some simple life choices. His new friends didn't have to define who he was. She wouldn't allow them to, either. He was Charles Jack Dawson and Rose had great ambitions for the both of her children. She knew with Jack's blood flowing through him, he would pull through, just like his father always managed to.

Rose gingerly chopped some strawberries into small bits, dropping them into the batter. She watched the fruit slowly sink into the thick batter and she sighed, raking her hair back from her face. She poured the batter into cake pans and put them into the oven. Once she had the timer going, she wandered back into the foyer, staring up the stairs again.

"Charlie?" She called, her voice echoing through the quiet house. After a moment, he appeared at the bannister, peeking his head to look down at his mother, "Why don't you come down here? I could use a hand in the kitchen."

Charlie shuffled his feet for a moment before she heard the thuds of his bare feet against the wooden staircase. Charlie clunked down the stairs and came to stand before her. She could tell he wasn't very happy. Rose gently combed her hair through his hair that was beginning to curl at the ends, "Will you help me clean up and watch the cakes while they're in the oven?"

"Sure," Charlie shrugged, brushing past his mother and going into the kitchen. He pulled the step stool out for himself and began filling the porcelain wash basin with warm water, dribbling soap in it as it pooled. Rose watched her son from the other side of the island.

"I notice you haven't been going out much since Saturday," Rose said as Charlie grabbed a wash rag and began dampening it. He didn't even look over his shoulder at his mother.

"There's nothin' to do anymore," Charlie replied, rubbing suddy circles into a utensil, "I think I've done everything there is to do in this town."

"That never stopped you from going out before," Rose shook her head, resting her elbows against the island as she watched her son, "What about your friends?"

Charlie was quiet for a few moments, dropping a few damp utensils into the drying rack, "My friend's aren't much fun, I guess. Maybe we're just a little too different after all."

"Even Ivan?"

"_Especially _Ivan," Charlie said, still without pausing from his chore.

"So, you won't be seeing them anymore?" Rose asked, checking the timer on her cakes.

"... hopefully not," Charlie mumbled, casting a fleeting glance out the window above the sink.

...

Jack and Valentina found themselves in the lobby of the downtown music hall with nearly fifty other children accompanied by an adult. Valentina's knee bobbed anxiously, causing her trumpet case to wiggle back and forth on the ground below her. Jack had just finished filling all the paperwork out for Valentina's audition and came to sit by her, placing his hand on her knee.

"You're gonna strain a muscle," Jack told her. Valentina stopped and looked at her father, "I just need you to take a deep breath for me, alright? No need to be so nervous. I guarantee you're the most disciplined trumpet player sitting in this lobby right now."

"Do you know who that is over there?" Valentina used her head to nod in a direction. Slowly, Jack lifted his eyes to rest on a girl with blonde ringlets and bright blue ocean eyes. She was wearing a fancy pink dress with glitter stitched into the torso. Beside her, her mother, who she looked exactly like, was speaking rather firmly with her in a hushed tone.

"Am I supposed to?" Jack looked back at his daughter with arched eyebrows.

"Daddy, that's Anita Strong. She's played at Carnegie Hall and even travelled with Brooklyn's Jazz Orchestra. She's top knotch and it's all-too awful she's decided to add the Miles City Junior Orchestra to her resume."

"If she's performed in New York City, what's she doing here?"

"Beats me. She travels anywhere for her music," Valentina shrugged, glancing discreetly towards the young girl with a powdered face, "All I know is she's my greatest enemy this summer, which is a shame, because I read her portfolio piece in the Trumpeteer's Magazine at school this past spring."

"Well, don't worry about her," Jack gave his daughter nudge, "Just worry about yourself."

"Oh, I'm worried," Valentina huffed, falling against the back of her chair.

"Hey now," Jack sat forward, "the director's know you, Valentina. You've been apart of this program for the past three summers. They've watched you grown as a trumpet-player. Have some faith, alright? This is the _Miles City_ Junior Orchestra. They'd be nuts to choose an out-of-towner over a native resident!"

Valentina was opening her mouth to respond when a woman's voice caught everyone's attention in the lobby, "Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for promptly filling out the registration forms. I think we have everybody's and are ready to begin audtions. We're going to start with those auditioning for the eight chairs of the trumpet section. If you're a trumpet player, please come make a single file line so I can take you to the auditorium. Parents, we ask that you please remain in the lobby."

"Go knock 'em dead," Jack pecked Valentina on the cheek as the girl stood, hauling her trumpet case at her side, "When you're done here, how about we go get some french fries and milkshakes?"

Valentina paused and gave her father a delightful grin, "Sure, Daddy. That sounds nice."

Jack walked with Valentina and watched as she found herself a place in line. There were eighteen children auditioning for the only eight chairs available in the orchestra. Valentina was easily the tallest amongst them all. Jack gave her a reassuring smile and wave. At the caboose of the group was Anita Strong, who looked rather flustered as she followed the march of the other children into the large and dimly lit auditorium.

"First chair, Anita!" Her mother said sternly from beside Jack. He looked to her quickly before watching her daughter, who gave her only a slight nod before she disappeared into the doors of the auditorium, "How long do these auditions last?" Mrs. Strong looked to Jack.

"Oh, about an hour per section. They'll post the final list tomorrow morning outside on the announcement panel," Jack shrugged, leaning against his cane.

"Certainly doesn't move like New York," Mrs. Strong remarked with the cluck of the tongue, "Where's the nearest coffee shop?"

"Just two doors down," Jack told her. She left without a moment to spare. Jack let out a long sigh and sank back into his chair, _I'm glad Rose and I aren't like that with our children..._


	16. Closing In

Chapter Sixteen

_June 22nd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

After a wonderful dinner of steak, potatoes, and a salad along with the special dessert of strawberry cake in honor of Valentina's annual hot-shot audition, Charlie found himself resigned to his bedroom. He spent the rest of his evening building more onto his train collection in hopes of having _something _to show for the summer. He even considered for the first time in weeks pulling his art supplies out, but he decided against it. It was a step in the right direction, Charlie thought, however, as he hadn't even considered art since school had let out. Charlie worked diligently, glancing towards the gold alarm clock on his night table several times. As the clock struck past nine, he worked even faster as he knew his bed time was nearing.

Right at half past nine, his father appeared in his doorway after a curt rap on the door. His father was already dressed for bed himself, "You know the drill, soldier," Jack said, tapping his cane against the ground beside his son. Charlie huffed and puffed as normal, but he dressed himself in a white undershirt with red and black plaid cotton pants to his father's approval. As Charlie crawled into bed for the usual routine, he watched as his father paused to admire his growing scene around his train tracks.

"You've made a lot of progress," Jack commented as he seated himself on the edge of the bed, "To be honest, I didn't think you'd find a home for all those pieces we bought you for your birthday, but you've proved me wrong, bud."

"I think I could use even more pieces," Charlie told him, which had Jack chuckling. Jack leaned his cane up against the wall and pulled the quilt up over Charlie's shoulders.

"Nice try," Jack grinned, "Maybe St. Nicholas will bring you some," Jack took his time fluffing Charlie's pillows and then leaned down, pecking him on his forehead through his mess of sweet blond hair, "Good night, Charlie. I'll see you in the morning."

Charlie watched as his father carefully manuevered back through the mess of a train collection and went to the door, flicking the light off. Charlie gripped the covers over his body tightly as he contemplated the words he wanted to say, "Dad," He called out without thinking, stopping his father in his tracks at the door.

"Yeah?" Jack leaned back in.

Charlie propped himself up on his elbow, "You know... it's been awhile since I've drawn anything. Do you think on your next day off... we could maybe... draw again like we used to?"

Jack was surprised at first. He came back into the dark room, the light of the hallway illuminating his tall figure, "You want to go hike and draw again?"

"Yeah," Charlie nodded from his bed, "Maybe my summer doesn't have to be so boring after all."

Slowly, a grin came across his father's face, "You bet, Charlie. This Saturday, you and I will go for a nice hike that ends in a drawing session. How about that?"

Charlie smiled weakly, "Thanks, Dad."

Once his father had left, Charlie sighed and sank into his goosedown pillows. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to his clock slowly tick. Every night, he was confronted with the memories of last Saturday. Charlie cringed when he recalled his actions and lack of thought. The worst part of it all... the bottle rocket Lawrence had assigned to him was the one that went into the pine trees, causing them to combust. Charlie shivered at the thought of allowing himself to fire it. He couldn't even imagine the self-hate he would have felt then. He already felt awful when, in the end, he hadn't lit a bottle rocket himself. Now Charlie only wanted to atone for the wrong doings he had made against nature, which had always been there for him when he had no friends to hang out with. He hoped with good deeds that Mother Nature could forgive him for what he had thought, at first, was a fun innocent past time. Charlie focused on falling asleep. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, releasing it through his mouth. He opened his eyes again, however, and looked out the window.

"I promise I'll make it up to you..." He whispered to the world before he closed his eyes once more.

...

_June 23rd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Charlie awoke abruptly just after one in the morning. He lifted his head groggily, his hair piled atop his head in a rats nest. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering why he had suddenly jolted awake. Slowly, Charlie laid his head back against his pillows and closed his tired eyes. But after a moment, a noise caught his attention again. Charlie sat up in bed now, wide awake, as he scanned his room with eyes the size of saucers. Then the noise came again. Charlie's head snapped towards his windows. It sounded like someone was throwing rocks.

Charlie sat up on his knees in bed and pushed his window open, gazing out to the sideyard of his house. Standing down below was Peter, Ivan, and Lawrence. Ivan had another rock geared up in his hand, but he lowered it when he saw Charlie in his sleepy state.

"Don't tell me we woke you up," Lawrence grinned mischeviously, "The night's only just started! Get down here, Charlie."

Charlie glanced towards his bedroom door before he looked back out his window, "I don't think that's a good idea. I'll just catch up with you guys tomorrow."

"I wasn't asking you; I was telling you," Lawrence said rather sternly, "Now get out of your pajamas and get down here!"

Charlie grew nervous at the tone in his voice. Quickly, Charlie disappeared from the window and staggered into some khaki pants, throwing a green button up on. He was fumbling with the buttons while he stumbled into his boots. It only took a few moments for Charlie to appear fully dressed at his window. He dangled his legs over for a moment.

_You don't have to do this, _Charlie told himself, _They can't do anything to you when you're up here and they're down there._

"Hurry up," Ivan hissed, "'fore your helicopter parents come and bust us!"

Charlie sighed and pushed himself from the ledge of his window. He balanced precariously on the slanted roof as he stumbled towards the garden trellis, which creaked and shifted beneath the boy's hurried descent. Charlie rubbed his sweaty palms against his trousers as the trio of boys came over to him.

"Get your bike," Lawrence said plainly, brushing past Charlie.

The four boys rode in a silence that made Charlie feel uneasy. They took the familiar empty main road to the park. Slowly, the boys wheeled themselves down towards the bank of the river. Charlie was the last to get off his bike and he was hesitant to even lay it down out of grasp. Lawrence withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his ratty patched jacket.

"Come on, we got some good stuff tonight," Lawrence said, leading the pack of boys where the rest of them were. The other boys were laid out on the grassy banks and perched on rocks, passing a bottle of stolen gin from the Dawson household between each other. Lawrence intercepted the pass of the bottle, making one boy stir, but he was silenced with one sharp look from Lawrence. Charlie glanced around at the boys who were beginning to notice him. Lawrence grinned at Charlie, holding the gin out towards him, "Take a big ol' gulp. You're the reason we even have it."

"No, thanks..." Charlie mumbled, shaking his head.

"Why not?" Lawrence asked sharply.

"I, uh... I kind of have a headache..."

"Just drink it, you big wuss," Lawrence shoved the bottle into Charlie's hand and the clear liquid splashed back and forth. All eyes were on Charlie now and he felt an immense pressure in his chest. He took a deep breath through his nose again, out through the mouth, and lifted the bottle. The putrid liquid slid down his throat, leaving a blazing trail in its path. The warm feeling dribbled all the way to his belly, "Yeah, that's what I thought," Lawrence nodded when Charlie lowered the bottle. The boy already felt lightheaded, "Take another drink."

"But-"

"Do. It," Lawrence said through clenched teeth before lifting his cigarette to his chapped lips. Charlie did as Lawrence asked and then quickly handed the bottle off to Ivan, not wanting a drop more. His entire body felt loose and Charlie did not enjoy his delayed reactions. He watched as the other boys began drinking their share, wiping their mouths on their sleeves as they carelessly passed the bottle to the next. Charlie blinked his red eyes and looked to Lawrence with his shaggy oily hair beneath the milky moonlight bleeding through the canopy of trees above.

"So, Charlie..." Lawrence said, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air, "I noticed you haven't come around since the fire. Wanna tell me why?"

Charlie lowered his eyes. For a moment, his hands curled into fists but he quickly straightened them back out and smoothed his palms against his trousers again, "I was just playin' it safe, like you said. Wouldn't want anyone connecting the dots."

Lawrence grinned, "God, you're so full of shit, Charlie."

"What?" Charlie looked towards the tall boy.

Slowly, Lawrence began pacing in circles around Charlie, making the boy grow extremely anxious. He looked around to see the boys were in all directions and he had no clear path to his bicycle, "You know, you seemed okay at first, Charlie..." Lawrence said, his boots crunching over the pebbles on the bank of the river, "But its become all-too-obvious you were never cut out to be a Diamond Boy after all," Lawrence paused just behind Charlie, "You're weak. You're childish. And your feelings get hurt all too easily. If a couple trees getting burnt to crisps makes you sad, I imagine we could break your pathetic little heart."

"I am not weak," Charlie said, not daring to look over his shoulder, "I just think it's wrong to burn trees. They never did anything to us."

"That is exactly what divides you from us," Lawrence now came to stand back in front of Charlie, carelessly flicking his cigarette into the river, "I thought you just wanted to have fun this summer. Are we not having fun, Charlie?"

Uncomfortably, Charlie shifted the weight between his feet, "I just think we can have fun doin' other stuff... that's all."

Around him, the boys began snickering at Charlie's ludicrous idea. Lawrence's smile only grew wider with the cackling of his crew, "You think trying to see how many times you can skip a rock across this river is fun? Climbing trees like a monkey? You think that going for a long bike ride is plenty to blow off steam? You're not one of us, Charlie. You never were."

Charlie nodded and lowered his eyes, "Fine. I'll leave then and I'll never bother you guys again."

"Oh, that's not how it works," Lawrence wagged his finger at Charlie, "See the problem is, Charlie... you know too much now. You were never one of us," Slowly, Lawrence approached him, towering over the small Dawson boy, "What's stopping you from telling anyone it was us that caused that fire? You know the police are snooping around."

"I'm not gonna say anything," Charlie shook his head.

"I don't believe you."

"Really! I won't breath a word," Charlie told him.

"Bullshit," Lawrence scoffed, "Now listen to me. Here's what's gonna happen: You're not one of us, alright? Let's make that clear. But your family's got money and you got the trust with your parents. So you're gonna bring us a bottle of liquor every other Friday evening. I expect a pack of cigarettes every now and then, too. You're going to keep us supplied. If you even think of skippin' on us or whinin' to your picture-perfect parents, we're going to tell the police department ourselves that _you_ were the one playing with the bottle rockets and _you're_ the one who caused the fire, got it?"

"Are you... blackmailing me?" Charlie nearly whispered, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Call it whatever you want," Lawrence shrugged, pulling another cigarette out for himself. He paused and looked at the crumpled pack, "I'm runnin' low on cigarettes, by the way, so that should be part of your delivery this Friday."

Charlie furrowed his brow, "Do you think the police would really believe _I _started the fire? I've lived here my whole life. This town knows my family."

"Yeah, and I do, too," Lawrence grinned, his cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, "Your dad's name is Jack Dawson. He owns that crappy magazine business. And your mom's name is Rose. I've seen her name in the paper a couple times."

"So, why would the police believe you over me?" Charlie asked.

"You act like I'm daft," Lawrence rolled his eyes, lowering his cigarette from his lips, "I wouldn't be the one makin' accusations against you. That's what the rest of the Diamond Boys are for. Stevie over there has never been in trouble with the law. You can call him the whistle blower, by all means. You know Stevie... you grew up with Stevie... he's got the same cookie-cutter family life as you. The only difference is he doesn't get caught up in his feelings," Lawrence looked towards the obviously drunk ashen blond boy, "You can cry on command, right?"

Stevie grinned and came to his feet. The rest of the boys were already smiling deviously as Stevie took a deep breath. Immediately, tears sprung to his eyes and he melodramatically brought his hands up, "Officer, I _saw _Charlie Dawson up at Bird's Perch! He's been stealin' fireworks all summer! Just ask Mr. Peters! I saw him, I swear!"

Charlie watched with wide eyes, a coolness seeping into his skin. Charlie shivered beneath the milky moonlight as Stevie let out a cry, wiping his eyes, "We just wanted to have fun at the fishin' hole this summer, but Charlie Dawson _ruined _it with his stupid bottle rocket prank!" A couple stray tears fell from Stevie's eyes and after a moment, he broke character, wiping his face on his sleeve. He grinned at Charlie as he seated himself back on the rock he had been perched on.

"Pretty convincing, huh?" Lawrence turned his eyes back on Charlie, "This Friday, alright?" Charlie didn't know what to say. He couldn't even muster a nod. He stood there, absolutely flabberghasted, "Alright, boys, you know what to do."

Slowly, the group of Diamond Boys began closing in on Charlie. Charlie was startled and staggered away from them, but Ross grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms back. Charlie's eyes darted between all the boys who were advancing on him.

"Oh," Lawrence said, making them pause. Everyone looked towards Lawrence who was taking his time exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air, "hit him everywhere but his face. Don't want his parents getting suspicious."

And with that, the boys circled Charlie, blocking his view from the grinning leader.


	17. To See You

Chapter Seventeen

_June 23rd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

It was a warm and rather humid day. Valentina rode on her bike languidly beside her two best friends, Melody and Oliver. Eagerly, the trio rode side-by-side as they made their way to downtown Miles City. They were on their way to the music hall, where each young musician would find out the fate of their role in the Miles City Junior Orchestra. Melody and Oliver had high hopes for their sections. Melody played the violin while Oliver specialized in the clarinet. The friends chatted lively about the prospect of the pieces the orchestra would choose that year.

"Gosh, I hope we don't do Beethoven again," Melody wrinkled her freckled nose up at the prospect, "I'm so tired of that man."

"No way will we do Beethoven _two _years in a row," Oliver laughed as he steered his baby blue bicycle around a rock in the road, "Mr. Dewhurst has much more sense than that."

"Well, whatever he picks, I hope it gives the brass section a chance to shine," Valentina grinned, her braids gliding in the wind behind her, "You string and woodwind sections are always the center of attention," Valentina stuck her tongue out at her friends.

"Hey now," Melody laughed lightly as the trio biked past an elderly couple out for a leisurely stroll, "The string section keeps the rhythm goin' for you brass players!"

"You wouldn't even have a chance to shine without the woodwinds!" Oliver teased.

The music hall was in view on the left side of the street now. Nearly a dozen students were gathered in plaza. Some were talking excitedly with their friends, while others moped back to their bicycles and carried on with their days. Valentina's heart started beating loudly in her chest as she pulled the brakes on her bicycle, coming to a squealing halt with her friends. Carelessly, they all pushed their bikes over into a tangled mess on the outskirts of the plaza and weaved their way through the crowd towards the announcement panel encased in glass beside the entrance. Together, Valentina, Oliver, and Melody gazed up at the list, looking for their section. After a moment, Melody clapped her hands together and excitedly pointed at the case.

"Yes! Right there, violin section! Second chair, Melody Richardson!"

"Dang, _second _chair!" Oliver arched his dark eyebrows, "You even beat out some of the snobby prep kids!" Another moment passed, "Looks like I got fourth chair. Nice! One chair higher than last year."

As Valentina's eyes scanned down the list, she could feel her heart starting to sink. The trumpet section was right in front of her, "I... don't see my name..." Valentina said after a moment. She checked each chair carefully. The first chair was filled by Anita Strong. The other seven were occupied by the children who attended the prepatory school in the mountains. Valentina's blood throbbed loudly in her ears, "I... I didn't get a chair...?" She whispered, her voice slightly cracking, "I was beat out by all those snobby prep kids _and _a girl who doesn't even live here?!"

"There has to be a mistake," Oliver shook his head, "You've been part of the program since 1919!"

Again, Valentina scrutinized the list, checking every section on the off-chance she had accidentally been placed somewhere else. But still, her name did not jump out at her. Valentina felt her face flush and her body took on a chill. Her ears became warm as she was drowned in embarassment in front of her friends. She nearly felt shameful of herself. Valentina combed through her mind, recounting all her practice. She hadn't practiced enough, she told herself. Tears sprung to Valentina's eyes and she immediately turned away, making a direct bee-line for her bicycle before she burst into tears right there in the plaza.

"Tina!" Melody called, "Tina, wait!"

Valentina didn't stop, however. She ripped her bike up from the ground and got on, pedaling furiously away. Salty tears blurred her vision as she pumped her legs back and forth, doing her damndest to put distance between her and the final decision of the orchestra line-up. Her friends still called after her, but she didn't even look. She pedaled out of sight quickly.

...

Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table with his art supplies in front of him. But the page in front of him remained blank. Charlie's entire body ached. Bruises painted up and down his legs and were coming through in splotchy patches on his torso. Despite it being such a warm day, Charlie wore a long sleeve shirt buttoned all the way to his neck. He stared at the paper, begging for some inspiration. Anything to take his mind away from his current predicament.

His mother sat at the kitchen island with her back to Charlie. She was reading the early mock-up of the July edition of _Dazzling People, Nature, and Art. _She could see a piece of Jack's touch in every page. She took a dainty sip of her tea as she slowly turned the page to read about the hot boating season Jack had been ranting about a few weeks ago. She grinned when she recalled his unimpressed attitude with large sailboats. She knew Lance Hunter had one, which decidedly had made Jack completely uninterested in the rather snobbish hobby.

The front door flew open, shedding more light into the foyer. Rose lifted her eyes, catching a glimpse of Valentina. The door slammed harshly behind her and her feet bounded up the stairs quickly. After a moment, her door slammed shut, too. Rose arched her eyebrows and glanced towards Charlie, who could only muster a shrug with his sore body. Rose was out of her stool in a moments notice to do some investigating. She forgot entirely about the magazine and her cup of tea as she briskly left the kitchen and wandered upstairs. Rose paused outside of Valentina's door before she hesitantly lifted her hand and gently rapped on the door.

"Tina?" Rose said softly. After a moment, she let herself in. Valentina was on the ground, hot tears streaking down her face. She had her music folder open in front of her where she was ripping several sheets of music to shreds, "Tina! What are you doing?"

Valentina sniffled deeply as another wave of tears brimmed her eyes. With shaky hands, she ripped through another piece of music. She paused and looked at her concerned mother, "I didn't get a chair..." Valentina croaked miserably.

Rose felt her heart break instantly for her daughter. Rose shifted between her feet for a moment before she seated herself on the ground beside Valentina. Valentina sniffled again. Rose reached towards her waist band and removed a lacy handkerchief, holding it out towards her daughter. After a moment, Valentina accepted it and mopped up her tears to no avail.

"I thought I had practiced enough..." Valentina said, her wet eyes gazing over the shreds of music at her knees, "But I didn't, Momma... I didn't try hard enough."

"Honey, that's not true," Rose shook her head, resting her hand on Valentina's wiry shoulders, "You practiced very hard. You were disciplined. But... sometimes, you can do everything right and still not win. It's the way life goes."

"But, Mom," Valentina blinked rapidly against the tears stinging her eyes, "That orchestra has been apart of my summer since I was eight years old. I lived for that orchestra each and every summer. It's how I became friends with Melody and Oliver," Valentina's throat felt like it was swelling shut and she let some tears fall from her cheeks, "Now how will they ever find time to hang out with me, the pathetic loser who didn't get a chair..."

"You're being much too harsh on yourself," Rose wrapped her arm around Valentina and brought the girl in close. Gently, her daughter's head lolled against her collarbone, "Your friends are not going to think any less of you for not getting a chair. It's part of being a musician, isn't it?" Rose cradled Valentina back so she could gaze at her soppy wet brown eyes, "Didn't you tell me that Oliver didn't make the cut to be part of the school's Christmas Paegent last year?"

"Yeah..." Valentina whimpered as she sniffled and dabbed at her eyes again, "He was really upset. He didn't even come to watch the performance..."

"But that didn't stop you and Melody from still being his friend," Rose said gently.

"Momma, this is not the same," Valentina's eyes grew serious, "Who cares about some dumb band the local elementary school needs," Rose was caught rather off-guard to hear Valentina's blatant review, "I didn't get into the _city's _orchestra. The one that _actually _matters, Mom! If I can't get into the real public's view, no one will ever offer me a career or recruit me or..." Valentina's voice faltered for a moment and she lowered her eyes, "... no one will ever hear me play..."

"But Miles City has heard you play," Rose said, "And they _will _hear you again one day," Rose looked to Valentina's walls and pointed, "Look at all the front page headliners you have cut out- the one's that have your shining face in the picture just below. They _see_ you, Valentina, and they will continue to see you."

"Momma," Valentina sighed, her voice strained, "I really... I'm just not in the mood for a motivational pep talk. I just want to be alone. Please...?"

Rose gently carressed Valentina's touch with the back of her slender hand. After a moment, she nodded, her red curls bobbing back and forth, "Okay," Rose replied airily, "That's fine... I understand. I'll let you know when dinner is ready, alright?"

Valentina nodded, pursing her lips. She watched as her mother got to her feet and took a moment to smooth her skirt. Rose gazed over her daughter once more, still sitting amongst the sea of lost music sheets. Rose was hesitant to leave her alone, but she knew Valentina needed to grieve, in a way, for the expeirences and connections she had seemingly lost in her summer plans. Rose walked to the door and looked to her daughter once more before shutting the door quietly.

She remained standing up outside the door, her head lowered to gaze at the wood panelled floors. The sounds of paper tearing could be heard again. Rose bit down on her lip and in the next moment, her legs were taking her downstairs in wide brisk movements. Rose marched into the kitchen and grabbed her purse from the counter. She paused and looked to Charlie, who was still hovering over an empty page at the kitchen table. Rose took a deep breath for a moment, tucking her curls behind her ears.

"Charlie, I need to go run an errand real fast. Can you go check on your sister in a little bit?" Rose asked, cocking her head to the side, "Maybe you two can play with trains or listen to that Chuck Cowboy radio show at 2 o'clock?"

"Yeah, sure," Charlie mumbled, not even looking up from his sheet.

Rose didn't have time to pry into Charlie's inattentiveness. With her purse beating against her hip, she walked with sheer purpose out of her front yard, closing the front gate behind her. She didn't look to a single face as she walked. It was not the time to get wrapped up in a conversation. Rose was a woman on a mission. The music hall came into sight. Rose's heels began to clack on the red hot plaza brick. She approached the announcement casing first and scanned it. She then turned on the balls of her cream pumps and walked through the door into the dimly-lit and cool front foyer of the music hall with vaulted and slanted modern ceilings. Rose glanced around before deciding to head towards the auditorium. The carpet muted the thuds of her heel as she walked through the vacant lobby. With ease, she pushed the auditorium door open. There, she was greeted by a phanograph with a large yellow horn belting out a classic piece of music. One lone man was sat at the table beside it, scribbling furiously. His back was to Rose and there were thirty-seven aisles of seating between them. Rose looked around the large auditorium. She didn't see anybody else. She gazed at the vacant stage. The lights had been left on.

Rose gripped her purse strap tightly and took a deep breath before she wound around the back of the chairs and began to walk down the sloped aisle. As she got closer, the sounds of her muted thuds to the floor caught the attention of the man at the table. He was roused from his work and looked over his shoulder directly at Rose.

"Hello, Mr. Dewhurst," Rose stopped a few feet short of him, as if his gaze alone had petrified her in spot, "Do you have a moment to speak?"

Mr. Dewhurst studied Rose for a moment before he turned to his phanograph, lifting the needle from the spinning record. He then turned back towards Rose, "I think I know why you're already here, Mrs. Dawson. Please, sit down," He gestured to the first row of retractable chairs that sat just behind the director's table. Rose hesitated before she set her purse down and did as Mr. Dewhurst suggested. He swivelled in his chair to face Rose and clasped his hands together, "You're wondering why Valentina didn't make the cut this year."

Rose gripped the arm rests of the chair. The conversation was already not going as she originally imagined, "Yes, actually," Rose nodded, some loose curls falling to frame her face, "When she's consistently been in your top five chairs for the past three summers... I suppose I'm just shocked to hear she didn't even get bottom chair this year."

"Mrs. Dawson," Mr. Dewhurst sighed and titled his chair back, "Every year, we see auditions from dozens of kids, some from all around Montana, some coming as far as the coasts. This program has grown rapidly beyond my original ambitions and Miles City Art Council is thrilled with the presence of this junior orchestra. There is a standard to be kept with this orchestra and, unfortunately, Valentina didn't meet that standard this year."

Rose licked her lips pensively, lifting her chin slightly, "Could you elaborate on your standards, please?"

"The Miles City Junior Orchestra, in alignment and with sponsorship from the Miles City Art Council are dedicated-"

"No," Rose shook her head, leaning in closer to the man now, "I want to know what _your _standard is, Mr. Dewhurst."

The conductor was quiet, holding a rather tense eye contact with Rose, "Like I said, we see all kinds of children coming for auditions every year. The competition is fierce. It's unfortunate Valentina didn't make the cut this year. We'd love to see her audition again next year."

"So, the Miles City Art Council is okay with the fact that the leader of the trumpet section for the _Miles City _Junior Orchestra is actually a child prodigy who lives in New York City?" Rose shot back, furrowing her eyebrows together, "Is this program about actually bringing the children of the community together to create the power of music or is this just your golden-ticket to getting your name recognized in your profession?"

"Mrs. Dawson, I can assure you the audition portion of this program is completely fair, concise, and just," Mr. Dewhurst held his palms up, exasperation evident on his face, "I understand that the rejection is tough. I'm sure Valentina is disappointed. But there's always next year."

Rose calculated her words for a moment, crossing her feet at her ankles. Gingerly, she lowered her hands to her lap, "You say your program works in affiliation and has sponsorship from the Miles City Art Council?"

"That's correct," Mr. Dewhurst adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose, "It's who funds us every year to make this possible."

"Have you ever taken the time to just... take a stroll through their beautiful building over there on Gardenia Lane?" Rose asked, arching her eyebrows politely. Mr. Dewhurst hesitated before shaking his head. Rose grinned, "Ah... well, if you take the time one day when you're not on a business call, I'd recommend brushing up on the council's mission statement."

"What do you mean?"

"The Miles City Art Council's mission statement is to bring an authentic and lively community together. To enrich the lives of local residents. Tell me how you're abiding by this mission statement at all, Mr. Dewhurst. I'm sure that little girl from New York City isn't the only one who made the cut this year, shutting several local children out," Rose paused before taking a curt breath, "In fact, I think this should be brought to the council's attention for a fair judgement."

"This program is higlhy esteemed, Mrs. Dawson," Mr. Dewhurst said, folding his hands together over his round belly, "I have a great rapport with the Art Council."

"Does the council get any say or even a look at the line-up before it's posted?" Rose asked.

Mr. Dewhurst paused again, resting his folded hands against his knee, "That is strictly my area of action in the program," The man adjusted himself in his seat and leaned towards Rose, digging his elbows into his knees, "Look, I know you're frustrated. Any empathetic white person would be, too. But I don't like the edge in your voice, Mrs. Dawson, and I don't like what you're implying," The adults were silent as they stared into each other's eyes, "There's always next year for Valentina, hm? Now if you'll excuse me."

And with that, Mr. Dewhurst hopped to his feet and collected his papers, sticking them into his briefcase. He glanced towards Rose who remained glued in her seat and then he brushed past her, silently making his way up the aisle. She heard the door creak open and thud softly behind her, sending an echo through the auditorium. Rose left out a huff, her nostrils flaring.

...

Jack had grown tired of seeing his name. The end of the month was always the worst as he signed all the final approval papers. Some states had stricter shipping and shelf rules and required more paperwork and even more signatures. Eleanor had done her best to subsidize him with coffee, bagels and cream cheese, and fruit, but Jack often forgot about it, leaving it lonesomely in the corner of his desk. He would drink his coffee fast, however.

When Eleanor brought him a refreshed piping mug of coffee, she sighed in discontent at the mound of untouched grapes on his desk. She watched her boss from the doorway for a moment, admiring his completely engrossed state of mind. She then brought the coffee to him, earning a fleeting glance. Jack wouldn't allow himself to be torn away from his work for the slightest moment, not for anything. Eleanor seated herself on the edge of Jack's desk, brushing her leg against his arm. Still, he didn't look up as he took a sip of coffee while gracefully writing his initials.

Eleanor grabbed the dish of grapes, holding it between them, "You haven't eaten a thing all day, Jack. Don't tell me I'm going to have to hand feed these to you?"

Jack laughed lightly, still not looking up from his work. He continued to furiously scribble, "I had breakfast this morning. I'll eat when the paperwork is done."

"Uh-huh," Eleanor nodded. She plucked a plump grape from the dish and outstretched it to him, "Open up. You need brain food to get through all this paperwork."

Jack looked up now and Eleanor was stunned by his ocean blue eyes, "I'm just signing my name. With the coffee, I think I'll be alright. I appreciate the care, though."

"Oh, good, you know I care for you," Eleanor grinned, "But do you know how much?"

"As much as anyone could like their boss," Jack smiled boyishly and took a sip of his coffee.

"Well, _I _personally believe my boss to be my guardian angel," Eleanor straightened her back from where she was poised on his desk, gently pressing her hands to her exposed collarbone above her swooped neckline.

"I'd like to think anyone in my position would have done the same for you, Eleanor," Jack told her modestly, scribbling his name at the bottom of a page and flipping it over.

"You have much too faith in some people," Eleanor shook her head, "You think of a million and one ways to _help. _Most people come up with a million and one _excuses._"

"Well," Jack set his coffee down and shuffled the completed papers before glancing towards the stack that still awaited him, "I'm a big believer that you don't need a reason to help someone."

Eleanor felt her cheeks grow warm, "A golden virtue, Jack. I wish all men could be like you."

Jack was about to respond when a flash of red caught his attention. He did a double-take from his desk to see his wife standing in the doorway of his office, looking rather upset. Quickly, Jack hopped to his feet and reached for his cane, rounding the desk.

"Rose, what's wrong?" He asked, almost hurriedly.

"Do you have a moment to go for a walk and talk?" Rose asked, reaching out for him. When he came into her arm length, she grabbed hold of his hand tenderly, "I really need to talk to you."

"Yeah, of course," Jack nodded, relishing in the feeling of her soft slender fingers carressing him, "Eleanor, I'll be back. Can you get those files I've signed notarized with Shirley, please?"

"Yes, I'll do that," Eleanor stood now and began gathering the papers into her arms, her heart absolutely drooping. She watched as Jack left with his wife. Her cheeks burned intensely now. Finally, she had had the courage to be more bold, and on all days, it was a day Rose decided to peak her head in the door. She watched as the Dawson couple weaved through the desks on the main floor. He already had his arm around her waist as he opened the door and they squeezed out.

"What's happened?" Jack asked as he held the door open for Rose.

She paused, tucking a curl behind her ear, "It's about Valentina..."

Jack already knew by Rose's face. He pursed his lips for a moment as the couple paused just outside the door of the magazine business, "Dammit, dammit, dammit..." He shook his head and the couple started to walk. Rose began to form her jumbled thoughts into cohesive words for her husband, to prepare him for what awaited him at home that evening.


	18. Crossroads

Chapter Eighteen

_June 26th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Rose met with her friends Maggie and Betty at the corner of Row Lane, which was an equal distance from everyone's houses that were scattered throughout the neighborhood. Rose was relieved to find out she was the first person there. Lately, she had been running behind schedule, and she knew it would only sit well with the punctual Betty for so long. In Rose's arms, she had the flyers that Jack had been kind enough to pull strings to have pressed for her. They would be taken door to door to let the entire neighborhood know they had been invited to a huge 4th of July gala that would take place just a step outside their front lawn.

Rose admired the neat pressings. She was sure Jack had lined them himself before allowing the young press apprentince, Mr. Rodney Higgins, to do any of it. Maggie and Betty appeared from around the corner. They both lived on the same side of the neighborhood. Maggie waved energetically as usual, her floppy sun hat bouncing with each movement. Betty walked with her shoulders squared, her umbrella acting as a cane for her as the women came to meet with Rose.

Rose grinned and hugged the flyers to her chest, "Thanks for agreeing to do this with me. I think the door-to-door reception will be much better with three members of the neighborhood," Rose handed each friend their own stack of flyers, which they approved of.

"Wouldn't dream to miss it," Betty replied with an airy chuckle, her eyes scanning the invitations, "I think we're all eager about the same thing."

"And that would be?" Rose cocked her eyebrows up.

"Oh, don't be so polite," Maggie waved her hand with a grin, "You know we're just doing this to get in with the Freedman's."

"I'd like to think it's not the _only _reason," Rose tucked a curl behind her ear, "Let's start on this street and work our way to the back."

"Saving the Freedman's for last, I see," Betty now let out her ferocious laugh. Together, the three women began up the street, their heels clacking on the cement, "I bet their house is dirty, dirty, dirty with all those unruly boys!"

"Oh, I bet it's got quite the stench," Maggie wrinkled her nose up at the thought.

"Overflowing dirty hampers, dusty bannisters," Betty clucked her tongue, "I'm sure their toys are never put away and there's dirty dishes in the sink, always."

Rose paused at the gate of their first home. She pondered to herself for a moment before looking towards her companions, "Let's have a little faith the mother is doing everything she can. It's not fair, she's outnumbered."

"Oh, Rose, you're such a sweetheart," Betty laughed, "I'm just so damn curious!"

"We all are," Rose nodded, opening the gate, "Let's get started so we can be home in time to have dinner ready, ladies."

...

Jack looked up from painting in the office, realizing the house was extremely quiet. Almost _too _quiet. In Charlie's toddler years, silence was a very bad thing to have happen. Jack dropped his paintbrush into his murky cup and wandered out into the hallway. He looked left and right. Both of the children's bedroom doors were shut, not a peep slipping out from beneath. Jack decided to check on Charlie first and turned left, gently rapping on his door.

"Charlie? You in there?" No sound returned to Jack. He shifted the weight between his feet, "Alright, I'm comin' in," Jack opened the door and when he entered, he was greeted by Charlie sitting at his desk, his head resting against the surface, "Hey, bud, everything alright?" Jack asked, coming to stand beside his son. Charlie lifted his head, a red glaze on his cheek from where it was pressed against the desk.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." Charlie mumbled, raking his hair from his face.

"You don't seem fine," Jack furrowed his brow, "What's going on, Charlie? Are we still on for our drawing session this weekend?"

Charlie glanced towards all the unused art supplies that were scattered across his desk. Every day he had tried to draw something, but absolutely nothing came to him, "Yeah," Charlie looked back at his father, "I still wanna go."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that," Jack nodded, "I'm looking forward to it, Charlie. You and I haven't gotten to spend much time together lately."

Charlie felt his throat tighten and he pursed his lips as tears suddenly pricked his eyes. He lowered his head quickly, hoping his bangs created a curtain between him and his father. Jack was in tune, however, and immediately he scraped a stool over and seated himself beside Charlie. He reached out, touching his son's shoulder gently. At first, the boy pulled away, but finally settled with his father's fingers resting on him.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Jack said soothingly as the tears started to streak Charlie's face, his lips quivering, "Charlie, bud... what's going on?" Jack gently reached out for Charlie's cheek, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not!" A flustered Charlie rubbed furiously at his eyes.

"No more squirming, no more dodging me, Charlie," Jack shook his head, "You're really going to sit here and tell me everything is dandy when you're obviously upset? I want you to talk to me, Charlie. What is it?"

"Nothing's wrong," Charlie told him adamantly, tears still stinging his eyes.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you're crying," Jack crossed his arms over his chest and arched his eyebrows at his boy, "It's Friday night, you should be planning to spoil yourself with staying up late and doing whatever you want."

Those words only made more tears flow down Charlie's cheeks. The young Dawson boy wiped his nose on his sleeve, not at all gracefully. He checked his cuffs to be sure they were covering the patchwork of the faded bruises on his arms.

"I'm... I'm just really sorry, Dad," Charlie said breathily as he held his sobs in.

Jack's face showed surprise, "Sorry? Sorry for what?"

Charlie could feel his entire body quivering, his heart beating ferociously in his chest. Charlie looked towards his desk, wanting this all to be over. He cursed at himself silently for allowing himself to break down so easily. Charlie reached for a blank sheet of paper, drawing it into his fingers. He let out a long sigh, tears still running down his cheeks. He sniffled and looked back towards his father, "You... must be so ashamed of me..."

"Charlie, I will never be ashamed of you," Jack said seriously, "What could make you think that?"

"I saw you... painting in the office," Charlie's voice cracked as his throat constricted again, "And it just reminded me... that I haven't been able to draw in so long. No matter how hard I try, Dad, nothin' comes to me..." Charlie sighed heavily, "How could you ever be proud of someone like me, who has no talent at all?"

Jack shifted in his stool, straightening his shoulders out. He looked over his crying and shaking son, wanting to do anything in that moment to take all of his hurt away. Jack took in a deep breath, "Charlie, we're going to fix this, I promise. Just because your summer started out rough, doesn't mean it has to be like that all the way through August. What you're experiencing is normal for an artist, alright? But I know we'll get those creative juices flowing again."

"... You're sure?" Charlie lifted his wet green eyes towards his father.

Jack grinned, reaching out and squeezing Charlie's knee, "I promise."

...

The women had made great progress and had recruited two other women already to join the planning committee. They were greeted with grins and excitement over the prospect of the neighborhood uniting to make a memorable fourth of July celebration. As the women left the Whitman's household, they strolled next door to a home with an unkempt yard with several toys strewn about, forgotten amongst the growing weeds.

"I thought the Freedman's lived on Blossom Lane," Betty said, stopping outside the gate to look around the neglected yard.

"They do," Rose nodded, unlatching the gate, "This is Eleanor Greene's home."

"Eleanor Greene?" Betty looked towards her friends, "I don't like that woman."

"How come?" Rose furrowed her brow, "I was going to ask her to be part of the planning committee. She's the new secretary at Jack's office."

"Oh, honey," Maggie giggled, her southern twang ringing out, "That woman has no back-bone, but she _craves _a man's gentle touch."

"What does that mean?" Rose asked.

"I'd keep an eye on that husband of yours," Betty grinned as she threw the gate open and lead the women up the path. Rose paused to watch the back of her companions, still absolutely perplexed by what they had said. After a moment, she kicked into gear and followed them up onto the porch. Maggie rang the doorbell.

"You're going to elaborate when we're done here, right?" Rose asked, glancing towards Betty and Maggie.

"I didn't think I would have to," Betty shrugged, adjusting the frilly shawl on her shoulders, "I would have thought you just knew."

"Knew what?!" Rose exclaimed. The moment the words came from her mouth, Eleanor opened the door and was surprised to be greeted by the three women.

"Why, hello, you three," Eleanor said, glancing over her shoulder. The house behind her was a sheer mess, "What's the pleasure of this visit? If I knew you were coming, I would have had some tea brewing."

"Oh, don't worry, we ain't gonna barge in," Maggie grinned politely. She held a flyer out to Eleanor, who accepted it and began looking it over, "We're tryin' to throw together a neighborhood-wide fourth of July party! We wanted to invite you and yours out onto the street that evening. It's a great time for the kids to get together and a wonderful excuse to grab a cocktail and mingle with your neighbors," Maggie explained as she pointed to different sections of the flyer for Eleanor.

"Yes, and we were wondering if you'd like to be apart of the planning committee," Rose said. All the while, Betty's words were gnawing at the back of her mind, "We'll meet a few days each week at my house."

Eleanor examined the informational flyer for a moment before she lowered it, "Well, sure. This all sounds great. I'd be happy to be apart of the committee, too. When's our first meeting?"

"Monday evening," Rose replied, whisking a curl from the frame of her face, "I promise to have refreshments for taking up some of your family time."

"Count me in," Eleanor grinned, "I guess I'll just walk home with Jack after work, then."

"Sounds good," Rose said almost weakly, "We'll be in touch. Thank you, Eleanor."

Eleanor was the last house on the street. The trio of women exited out onto the main road and Rose immediately turned on her friends, crossing her arms over her chest. She raised her eyebrows and waited expectantly.

"Rose, I know you see the best in people, but I didn't think you could be so naive," Betty shook her head. Rose's expression didn't falter, "You know Eleanor's husband died nearly ten years ago, leaving her to raise that little hellspawn of her's all on her own," Betty explained, glancing towards the few pedestrians who strolled by that warm day, "Well, Eleanor has been fishing for a man's touch again. I'm sure she thinks it will fix that facade of a family she has," Betty nearly rolled her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, shaking her head, "I don't think I've ever seen Eleanor act like that before. She's so quiet and reserved."

Maggie let out a hoot now, adjusting her floppy hat on her head, "That's just 'cause you only interact with her at school events, Rose! Eleanor made some mighty weird comments towards Arthur once, mostly sexual in nature."

"She's made off handed comments at Colton as well," Betty nodded, "She doesn't care how old they are. If they can make love to her, that clears her checklist."

"It's why she doesn't work at the post office anymore," Maggie said.

"But... Eleanor told Jack that her position was terminated."

"Oh no," Betty almost laughed at the absurdity of the unfolding reality, "I'm sure Postmaster Stevens just got sick of her constantly making moves on him! I got that directly from _his _wife. I'm sure you know the woman, Mrs. Bea?"

"I do..." Rose nodded, feeling her cheeks flush in the warmth of the sunlight above, "I had no idea Eleanor was so lonely like that. Jack hasn't mentioned anything peculiar about her. She's just very eager to work. That's what I've heard."

"Well," Maggie shrugged now, "you better just watch your husband, Rose. Jack Dawson is quite the looker. Those blue eyes and blond hair are gonna get him in trouble with Eleanor!"

"I'm not worried about Jack," Rose told them plainly, "I know he would never give in to something like that... I just don't want him to get heckled. Work is already so hot and stressful for him. He comes home so tired."

"I cannot _wait _for our first committee meeting," Betty grinned.

...

After Jack finished checking in with Charlie, he mosied across the hallway to Valentina's room, gently knocking on the door. She called for him to enter. When he did, he found his daughter on the floor with a pile of shredded paper and several vinyls laying out around her. The needle on the phonograph she had received for her past birthday was tilted upwards, waiting for an album to be placed beneath it.

"Hi, Daddy," Valentina greeted, lowering her eyes back to the pictures of musicians on the vinyl covers.

"You gonna put some tunes on for us?" Jack grinned, coming into the room completely now, "We could use a little music in the house this afternoon."

"I don't know..." Valentina shook her head, looking between all her vinyls, seemingly lost. She looked back towards her father, "Listening to these doesn't feel the same anymore, Daddy."

Jack crossed to Valentina's desk, easing himself down into the chair. He let out a sigh, rubbing his throbbing knee, "Why's that?"

Valentina lifted a vinyl up, admiring the grainy picture of men holding brass instruments, "I used to listen to these and get excited. I thought maybe, one day, I could be just like them. Playing the trumpet to make people happy. But now... I just listen to them and it reminds me that I've failed as a musician," Valentina sighed, lowering the vinyl to her lap, "I'm sure they've never failed an audition in their entire life."

"I promise you, Tina, that every famous musician today, at one point in their life, didn't get a part they wanted," Jack told her, "That's part of being a musician. Look at all those faces looking back at you. I'm sure they faced rejection dozens of times over. Rejection can't stop you. It can only make you stronger."

"I know you're right," Valentina said after a pause, "But right now, Daddy, I can't find any willpower in me to play my trumpet."

"That's alright, you just need time to process everything," Jack replied, "I can understand you're disappointed. But your mother and I don't want you to quit the trumpet forever, okay? I still remember the day I took you to that music store and you picked the trumpet out all on your own. It's part of who you are and you've come so far, Tina. It would break my heart for you to quit now after everything you've done."

"You act like I've played at Carnegie Hall," Valentina shook her head, "I haven't done much at all. I've only played right here, up in the mountains. I'm no where near as accomplished as Anita Strong is. No wonder they picked her over me... I'm sure her grades are better, too."

Jack lowered his eyes for a moment. The self-doubt that plagued his children boggled him and rattled him to his very core, "Don't say that. Don't compare yourself to other people. It's not fair to you, Valentina. You're special in your own way and I know you'll make a name for yourself in the world of trumpeteers. Have some faith and give it some time, alright?"

"... Okay, Daddy," Valentina said, not tearing her eyes away from her vinyl collection.

"Hey, I'm serious," Jack pulled himself down on the ground to sit in front of Valentina, despite his knee being in agonizing pain. He had forgotten to take his medication the night before. He reached out, grabbing hold of Valentina's small hands, giving them a firm squeeze, "You're eleven years old and have been part of countless symphonies in the area. The music department at school is thrilled to have you. Even if you don't think much of it, everyone around you does. We're proud of you, Valentina. And we know that one 'no' isn't going to stop you. It's going to light a fire under you and make you search for that 'yes'."

Valentina looked at her father's soothing hands that completely encased her's. It reminded her of when she was much younger. When her father held her hand, she felt so safe and secure. She was beginning to recapture that feeling again as she stared at their intertwined hands. After a moment, she lifted her eyes to look at her father's, "What if I can't find that 'yes'?"

"Oh, you will," Jack grinned now when he felt Valentina squeeze back, "You'll find that 'yes', even if you have to make it happen yourself. I know you will because you've got your mother's spirit in you. No one should be allowed to tell you 'no', Valentina. The sky's the limit with you and, even then, you'll make it all the way to the stars."

Valentina smiled at the comforting words Jack was saying to her. She had always considered herself a daddy's girl and this was exactly why. Her father was so assuring, so charismatic. He always knew how to make her feel better, how to cheer up, make her smile, make her laugh. Valentina pushed her vinyls out of the way and wrapped her arms around Jack's neck, falling into his lap. Without hesitation, Jack wrapped his arms around his daughter, pressing his cheek against the french braids on her head. These were the moments when being a father were truly the best.


	19. Growing Up

Chapter Nineteen

_June 26th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack had been laid up in bed not too long after dinner. His knee was killing him and he knew it would be in his best interest to take it easy if he wanted to have a nice hike with Charlie the next day. Rose bundled some ice up into a linen and brought it to him. He found himself reading competitor magazines for the rest of the evening. Rose had the children tucked in promptly after nine o'clock and resigned herself to the bedroom as well. Gently, she closed the door behind her and glanced towards Jack as she went to the closet to grab her nightgown. She came to the foot of the bed and began changing, all the while thinking of what Betty and Maggie had told her.

"Jack," Rose finally said as she shimmied out of her day dress and reached for her nightgown. Jack paused from reading and lifted his eyes towards her. He adjusted the ice pack sitting on his knee, "I wanted to ask you about something that I heard today. Now, it was through the rumor mill... but I just keep thinking about it."

Sensing it was something serious, Jack flipped his magazine shut and set it on the night table, "Sure, what is it?" He asked. Rose pulled her robe on and pondered for a moment before she seated herself at the vanity beside Jack's side of the bed. She unclipped her earrings and reached for a rag to wipe away her make up.

"It's about Eleanor Greene," Rose said, looking at him in the reflection of the mirror, "Today, Betty and Maggie told me that Eleanor has... promiscuous intentions. Apparently she had made some unwanted advances towards their own husbands," Rose paused and looked over her shoulder at Jack, "And they told me that her position at the post office wasn't terminated... she was fired for trying to begin an affair with her boss."

"You think Eleanor was being dishonest with me?"

"No, not entirely," Rose shook her head, her curls rustling against her shoulders. She continued wiping the powder from her cheeks, "I'm just worried she may have the wrong idea about you as her boss..."

"I don't think she does," Jack replied, adjusting himself against his pillows, "I'd like to think if she was fired from her last job for acting like that, then maybe she's learned her lesson. I certainly don't get the impression she's interested in me like that."

Rose felt herself grinning now as she looked back towards the mirror and smudged the last of her make up from her skin. She looked to her husband through the reflection, "I really don't think you're aware of the effect you have on women."

"You always say that and I have no idea what you're talking about," Jack laughed, reaching for his magazine again, "The only girl on my mind is you."

Rose gave her curls a good fluff with her fingers and she stood from her vanity, coming to stand by Jack's side of the bed. Slowly, she eased herself over him to stradle his hips. Jack set his magazine down again, resting his hands on her thighs.

"You're telling me," Rose arched her eyebrows and lowered her hands to his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her fingers and she grinned, "You've never thought about a single other woman, after all this time?"

"Why would I?" Jack grinned boyishly and Rose's heart flipped, as if it was the first time he had smiled at her, bathed in the salty sunlight in the Atlantic Ocean. Teasingly, Jack rubbed his hands up Rose's thighs, slipping beneath her cotton nightgown, "I got the best one in the entire world. No one compares to you."

Rose smiled and melted into Jack, their lips meeting. Instinctively, Jack wrapped his arms around the slender body he knew better than the back of his hand. They molded together, as if they had been made for each other. Rose's fingers dug through his blond hair and she reached for his lips hungrily, as if they would never get to kiss again. They held each other close, heat radiating between them.

...

Charlie had listened for his mother downstairs, turning all the lights off. She was the last person to retire to bed just thirty minutes after bading Charlie and his sister goodnight. He heard her stocking feet pad up the wooden staircase. He peaked out from the dark corner of the hallway, catching the last glimpse of her dress trailing behind her. The light shedding out from his parent's room narrowed before he heard his mother gently close the door. He listened to her footsteps walk across the bedroom. And then he heard his parent's voices.

Stealthily, and with boots in hand, Charlie snuck down the hallway to the top of the stairs. He paused once more, pricking his ears to try to hear through the wall, where his parents were speaking just on the other side of. He couldn't make any of it out. Charlie could hear the soprano octave of her mother, a beat, and then the deeper octave of his father's voice. But none of it could be made coherent for Charlie.

He gave up and carefully manuevered down the stairs, knowing exactly which boards to avoid. He made it into the front foyer and quickly jammed his feet into his boots. Charlie then pulled his backpack off his shoulders and walked straight across the hall into the dining room, which was only used during Thanksgiving and Christmas, or when guests visited. Charlie pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it to life. Carefully, he leaned in with the flame, looking at all the bottles glaring back at him. In the back, Charlie laid eyes on a bottle of vodka, half empty. He stowed it into the backpack and then grabbed a bottle of rum situated along the sides and honestly plain out of sight. Charlie cautiously zipped the backpack up, nervous the bottles would cause a racket. He slung it over one shoulder and began towards the front door. He stopped short when he spied his father's coat on the rack beside the door.

Charlie bit down on his lip before his hands lunged forward, digging into his pockets. The guilt that plagued him was worse than the first bout he had suffered. But he had no choice, he told himself. It was either this or facing charges that would alter his parent's view of him forever more. Charlie withdrew his father's pack of cigarettes and flipped it open. It was nearly full. Gingerly, Charlie withdrew four, tucking them into his pocket. He then replaced the pack and darted out the door. He hopped on his bike in one foul swoop and dove into the shadows from the trees lining his neighborhood.

Charlie rode his bike to the park almost as if he was on pins and needles. When he pulled into the park, he shoved his bike off to the side, not wanting it to get hurt. He wasn't entirely sure the planned deliveries were going to be all too civil. Charlie walked down the slope to where the known hang out was, but stopped short. Instead, he kicked a rock down towards the enbankment to announce his presence. Immediately, he heard the boys hush and he listened to their boots crunch through the gravel.

"Who's there?" Came Ivan's voice. One of Lawrence's top henchmen. He had climbed through the ranks efficiently fast.

"It's Charlie. I got your stuff," Charlie told them, shrugging his backpack off. He set the bottles upright in the grass and backed away from them as the boys emerged from the shadows. The first person he saw was Lawrence, who was smirking, as usual.

"Well, what'd ya bring us this week, Charlie?" Lawrence reached down and snagged both of the bottles into his hand, "Half a bottle of vodka and a quarter of rum. Hm... alright. We'll take it this week. Next time, nothin' less than half will be accepted," Lawrence carelessly tossed the bottles towards the boys lined up behind him. They all tangled together in bunches as they each attempted to catch it before the ground could pulverize it. Lawrence laughed at the sight of the boys ramming heads and then turned back towards Charlie, "I think you're forgetting part of the delivery."

Charlie had wished he had forgotten. He more than anything hoped to replace the cigarettes back where they belonged, in his father's pockets. Charlie was still for a moment before he robotically reached into his pocket and approached Lawrence, dropping them into his hand.

"Next time," Lawrence leaned in, speaking lowly to Charlie, "I want the fancy cardboard box these come with. Got it?"

"... Yeah," Charlie mumbled, lowering his eyes.

Lawrence gave him a harsh shove, sending him on his back with all the air blown out of him. Charlie wheezed for a moment before catching his bearings. He propped himself up on his elbow, letting out a cough. His body tingled from the pointy rocks jabbing into him, "See you in two weeks," Lawrence said before leading the boys back down to the river.

...

_June 27th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack turned Charlie's bedroom light on promptly at eight in the morning. The young boy stirred beneath his blankets before lifting his head and groggily looking in the direction of his father. Jack was smiling, already completely dressed for the day. He came over to Charlie's bed and leaned over, drawing the curtains back. The sunlight fell over Charlie's face and he squinted, turning his head away from it.

"Rise and shine, Charlie!" Jack said, his smile never faltering, "It's a beautiful day for a hike, huh?"

"Mmm... yeah," Charlie nodded as he let out a wide yawn.

"Oh, don't tell me you stayed up too late again," Jack sat himself down on the edge of Charlie's bed, "I made sure to rest up so we could go to that steep incline that leads to one of your favorite hills."

"Rabbit Hole Path," Charlie said, his eyes closed and his head resting against his pillow.

"You know, you'd probably be a very valuable resource to those search and rescue parties," Jack grinned and peeled the blanket back on Charlie, "Come on, if we get a move on quickly after breakfast, we can get a good walk in before it's too hot."

"Alright..." Charlie mumbled, lifting himself up now. He sat on the edge of his bed and stretched, gripping the cuffs on his jammie shirt to not allow his father to see his bruises. Charlie plopped down from the bed and crossed to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Jack crossed to it and gently rapped.

"It's going to be hot today, Charlie," Jack said through the door, "You should wear one of those short sleeve button-ups your mom bought you for Easter."

It took less than half an hour for Charlie to join the rest of the family at the breakfast table. Rose had freshly cut fruit on a few large porcelain white platters and she was just bringing a stack of pancakes to the table with a rammican of warm syrup when Charlie sat down. Jack looked up from stirring his coffee, looking directly at the young clone of himself.

"Charlie, don't you think you're going to be hot?" Jack asked. He took a sip of his coffee and licked his lips, "At least roll your sleeves or undo that top button. You're going to suffocate in that shirt."

"I'll be fine," Charlie said, his eyes focused on putting blueberries on his plate.

"So, Valentina," Rose grinned, spooning some chopped oranges onto her own plate, "What's on the agenda this beautiful Saturday?"

"Oh, I don't know," Valentina shrugged, "Maybe just reading a book."

"But it's so nice out!" Rose protested as she served two pancakes onto Charlie's plate and then passed the platter to Jack, "That won't do. I don't want you cooped up all day. Why don't you and I go out and have a girl's day?"

"And do what?" Valentina asked after taking a sip of freshly squeeze orange juice.

"Well," Rose took a moment to eat a piece of her pancake and then arched her eyebrows, "the museum has a new collection that we could take a walk through. And some window shopping might be fun. You're in need of new school clothes, anyway, why not get an early start on it?"

Valentina took a moment to consider it as she jabbed her fork against the spongy and buttery pancakes stacked in front of her, "Sure," Valentina finally nodded, cutting into her pancakes to start her breakfast. She figured it would be better than laying on her bed, staring at her trumpet case that was nearly teasing her.

With that victory, Rose grinned and popped an orange slice in her mouth, looking across the table towards Jack, "Oh, I packed you and Charlie some sandwiches, juice, and little trail snacks. It's sitting on the dining room table for you two."

"Wonder-Mom strikes again," Jack smiled and they held the loving eye contact.

Once breakfast was wrapped up, Valentina wandered up to her room to put on comfortable walking shoes. Charlie slung his backpack of art supplies on his back and grabbed the lunch box Rose had packed for them. He went out onto the front porch while Jack rolled his sleeves in anticipation of the hot walk. He had his own backpack filled with his own drawing supplies. Rose tenderly adjusted his suspenders as they stood in the sunlit flooded dining room.

"Are you feeling alright?" Rose asked, gripping his sturdy arm.

"Yeah, I feel fine," Jack nodded, "It was a good thing I took yesterday evening to rest," Rose smiled at him and he smirked, "Well, I got plenty of rest before _you _came to bed."

Rose felt her cheeks become madly warm, "I have to take every chance I can get!" Rose told him, making Jack's smile only become wider, "It's not like it's 1912 anymore and we don't have a care in the world besides where the next train will take us."

"Those were the days, weren't they?" Jack thought back fondly on the 1910's when he and Rose had a much different life.

"Our hey day," Rose laughed while inspecting Jack's backpack to be sure all of his zippers were closed, "Those trains took us to Valentina."

"And to the stars," Jack arched his eyebrows, almost seductively.

"Yes," Rose rolled her eyes melodramatically, "that's where we got Charlie from," Rose glanced to the clock above the archway of the dining room, "You two should get a move on before it's too hot. When you two get home, make sure Charlie's mentally prepared for a bath."

Together, the Dawson couple walked towards the front door. Jack paused with his hand on the brass doorknob, "I hope you and Valentina have a good day. She needs it, Rose."

"Same with you and Charlie," Rose nodded, "Let's both do our best today. For the children."

Jack grinned and reached out, grazing his fingers along Rose's arm, "Everything we do is for the children."

With that, he leaned in and gave her a tender kiss on the lips. His inviting blue eyes never left her's as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, gathering his son from the wicker chairs. Rose watched with red cheeks as the love of her life strolled away from her. She grinned as he cast one more wave to her before they disappeared. She sighed in content. The smallest things reminded her of how lucky she was.

...

The shopping centers were already flooded with girls buying new summer attire, plus the influx of tourists who travelled to see geysers and beautiful state parks in the warmer months. Valentina and Rose had just finished having lunch on a café patio, where they had club sandwiches and bisque soups. They had had short conversations about Valentina's classes for the next year. Upon reaching the large shopping plaza, there were several dozen groups of people weaving between each other. Several people lounged on the edge of the stone fountain in the center. Some children even played in it. It was alive with the energy of summer time.

"Wow, it's pretty popular here," Rose grinned, "I see several people buying bathing suits. Did you want a new one, Valentina?"

"I thought we were here for school clothes," Valentina looked up at her mother.

"It doesn't have to be strictly school clothes," Rose told her, "Whatever you think you want. You could get a nice leather purse. Or, we could get you some new boots. Maybe you wanted some new bath salts or scrubs?"

"Maybe just some new dresses," Valentina replied, glancing towards a couple of girls linked at the elbows, shopping bags bobbing at their waists, "To be honest... some are starting to get short."

"Oh, I know," Rose wrapped her arm around Valentina's shoulder. The eleven year old already reached her jaw line, "You're going to be taller than your father!" Rose steered Valentina towards some shop windows, "What kind of dress would you like? Satin? Silk? Something more than just cotton!"

"Why?" Valentina asked, arching her eyebrows as she gazed at the dresses displayed in the tall windows, "I've always worn cotton dresses. I think they feel nice."

"We should get you some nicer things," Rose told her, "Nothing feels better than having a good selection of dresses to choose from. I have some tulle dresses and satin and silk. Every day it's something new to feel good about."

Rose was able to coax the hesitant Valentina into a dress shop the young girl would have walked right past. It was a dress shop Valentina would have marked as more adult. The embroidered flowing dresses seemed like too much for the wiry young girl. Just looking at them had her feeling odd as they seemed much too mature for her. Her mother was insistent, however, and less than ten minutes later, Valentina found herself in the fitting room, standing on a pedastool as her mother and a young store clerk compared dresses together and brought them to Valentina.

They had Valentina try on a short sleeve satin dress with gold embroideries along the breast that followed through to her short bell sleeves. It had a golden silk waistband. Upon trying it on, Rose couldn't help but grin ear to ear, looking at Valentina in the body-length mirrors surrounding her from all angles. Her daughter slowly turned in the dress, smoothing her hands along her hips and thighs. Valentina had to admit the dress felt nice. But she felt as if the dress made her seem older than she actually was.

"This is a definite yes," Rose told the store clerk while pointing towards Valentina, "I'd like one in blue as well. Do you have any pastel tulle dresses?"

"Right over here, along the back wall," The clerk told her, setting some dress boxes down on a stool beside Valentina, "I'll show you."

"Stay right here, Tina," Rose said as she followed the clerk back into the store.

Valentina watched her mother's vibrant curls bob out of sight around a rack of dresses. Slowly, she turned back towards her reflection and took in a deep breath. She straightened her shoulders and again turned her body back and forth.

_Maybe I do need dresses like these. One's that I see the girls at the cinema wear. These embroideries... _Valentina's slender fingers toyed with the puckered gold seams running along her collar bone_... Anita Strong had a dress like this. Maybe that's why I didn't get a chair. Those cotton dresses must not be dignified at all anymore. Could I really get up in the morning and dress like this to school? _Valentina grabbed hold of her satin skirt, lifting it in her hands, _This is something I'd wear to one of Daddy's work galas... Could it really be just everyday attire?_

Suddenly, her mother appeared behind her, two more dress boxes stacked in her arms. Rose set the boxes down and came to stand beside Valentina, who was taller than her perched on the pedastool. Rose reached her arm around Valentina's waist, nudging her curls against the young girl's arm.

"I think you look lovely, Valentina," Rose smiled. The Dawson girls gazed into the reflection. Rose watched her daughter's eyes slowly scan down the dress, her hands still taking in the feel of the fabric beneath.

"Are these the kinds of dresses you wore when you were a girl?" Valentina asked, lifting her eyes to gaze at her mother's reflection, "Were you wearing something like this when you met Daddy?"

Rose recalled that chilly night at sea. The children had been told Jack and Rose had met at a dinner party. They had no idea their mother had been dangling off the ship when Jack had fatefully discovered her. Rose thought about the dress she was wearing. She had hated it simply because the fit was weird across her chest and the darts were much too constricting at the waist. But her mother had insisted she wear that itchy silk dress with intricate beading because it "looked nice". It had suffocated her nearly all night. Rose gave Valentina's waist a pinch.

"I was wearing something similar," Rose nodded, mustering her smile up again, "I did dress like this when I was your age."

"Do you think... they make me look older?" Valentina asked slowly.

Rose now turned to face Valentina, grabbing hold of her hands, "I think they make you look like the smart girl I've always known you as," Rose felt her heart swell with pride as a smile came across Valentina's face. Rose looked towards the store clerk, "We'll take all five of these dresses, please. And... she'll wear this one out."

"Very good, ma'am," The clerk nodded, folding Valentina's street clothes up and boxing them away, "I'll have these at the counter. Take your time."

Valentina and Rose took their time looking at accessories. They bought some new bows for Valentina's braids. Rose purchased a new necklace for Valentina that matched the gold trimming of her new beloved dress. They stepped back out into the plaza, bags gathered in their arms. Rose knelt down in front of her daughter and gingerly clipped the necklace onto her. She straightened it and grinned, admiring her daughter from head to toe.

"You look absolutely darling," Rose told her.

Valentina felt bashful beneath her mother's gaze. She was about to respond when a familiar noise caught her attention. Valentina looked across the plaza. Her eyes widened when she rest her sights on Anita Strong, playing her trumpet. A few people lingered to watch the young protegé. Some tossed coins into her case. Nearby, her mother sat on a bench, watching her daughter like a hawk. Valentina turned fully in the direction of the trumpeteer.

"Who is that?" Rose asked, slowly gathering the bags into her hands.

"That's Anita Strong," Valentina replied, her eyes never leaving the young girl. Rose recognized the name and watched the young blonde girl play, her ringlets bobbing as she belted out her classical trumpet. Anita played much different than Valentina, who preferred a more jazzy sound. In the next moment, Rose was surprised when Valentina left her side, making a direct bee-line towards the girl.

"Valentina!" Rose called, but her daughter squeezed through the crowd. Rose immediately took off in her daughter's trail, "Excuse me, sorry," Rose said as she wound through the thickets of people. She paused when she came out on the other side. She simply wanted to watch.

Valentina approached Anita slowly, hesitantly, as if she was trying to get close to a voitile alligator. Upon seeing Valentina, Anita lowered her trumpet and the young musicians held a silent eye contact for a few beats.

"Hi, Anita."

"Hi, Valentina," Anita nodded at her. The two girls had sat in the same group during the break in auditions, where the kids nervously thought about their auditions while others anxiously awaited their turn on the stage. The fruit punch and graham crackers had nearly been forgotten.

"What're you doing here?" Valentina asked, glancing around at the commotion of the shopping plaza, "Shouldn't you be at rehearsal for the orchestra?"

"It's in the evening," Anita told her, absent mindedly pressing the keys on her trumpet, "So my mom said I should get some exposure while we're staying here. I saw you didn't get a chair... I'm sorry."

"That's alright..." Valentina shrugged, though the fact still bothered her deeply. She took a moment to pause and inspect Anita's dress. Powder pink pastel silk with white embroidery. She looked back at Anita's refreshing blue eyes, "I guess this summer will just be somethin' else for me."

"I wish you had gotten a spot," Anita said, rather quietly. She shifted uncomfortably in her black buckle-over shoes, "Just one summer... I'd like to stay in New York City."

"You mean... you didn't want to get a chair?" Valentina's eyebrows knitted together.

"Is the trumpet actually _fun _to you?" Anita asked, rather perplexed.

"Of course it is," Valentina nodded, "It's the instrument I always wanted to learn. It's what I hope I get to play for the rest of my life. You don't like playing the trumpet?"

Anita let out a huff and shook her head, her ringlets brushing against the frame of her face, "That's the difference between here and New York."

"What do you mean?"

"I was _forced _to pick this stupid instrument up," Anita said, "I ne-"

"Anita! Your break has been long enough!" Her mother snapped from the nearby bench, "There are people here! Tell that girl to leave you alone!"

Anita pursed her lips and stared intently at Valentina, "You should go."

Valentina's brown eyes looked between Anita and her mother. She was rather blind sided by what she just witnessed. She had never seen a dynamic like that in her entire life. Anita gave her mouth piece a good wipe on her skirt and she planted her feet in a readied position to play. Slowly, Valentina backed away from Anita as she began playing again. Quickly, the young girl turned away and went to her mother.

"Let's go," Valentina said, brushing past her.

...

As it reached early afternoon, Jack and Charlie finally made it to the top of the large hill that overlooked scenic Miles City from the north. It had grown very hot and both Dawson boy's were plagued in a thin layer of sweat. On the hike up, the duo had seen a handful of large birds, even an eagle. Bunnies had darted across the dirt path that weaved up the steep incline, too. It was a miracle to Jack when they made it to the top. There was a beautiful view and a giant oak tree with plenty of shade for them to rest beneath. Together, the two sunk down against the trunk. Jack pulled some juice out of the lunch box Rose had packed, passing one to his son.

"Well, we made it," Jack declared before taking a refreshing sip of the juice. He glanced towards Charlie, who had chugged nearly half his juice in one gulp, "So, did any of that wildlife inspire you?"

"I didn't know we had eagles here," Charlie said, taking in the breath taking view. From their perch, they could see the majestic mountains encasing Miles City protectively, "I'd never seen one before."

Jack began shuffling through his backpack, withdrawing a brand new portfolio and some charcoal pencils, "Why don't we draw one? Look at this view! This is the perfect background for an eagle, don't you think?"

Charlie copied his father, placing his empty portfolio in his lap, "I've never drawn a bird before."

"I'll show you," Jack grinned, lowering the tip of his pencil to his paper, "I'm not much of a wildlife expert, but I think we can wing it. Start at the tip of his wing span; let's make the top stroke first. You want some curves in there..."

Slowly, Jack and Charlie worked line by line in creating the outline of a believable eagle. Jack was so pleased to watch his son focus and put marks on a piece of paper. It had been so long since Jack had seen even so much as a doodle from Charlie. At least one that wasn't on the back of his important final exam. Jack paused from beginning the details of the wing to observe Charlie. The young boy, with his artistic difference, was beginning work on the head of the eagle, tucked between the large powerful wings he had given him. He watched as his son used his pinky to make smudges into shadows, slowly sketching the curvy beak out.

"Hey, Dad," Charlie said, without looking up from his portfolio.

"Yeah, bud?" Jack replied as he made a few dark marks to his eagle's wings.

Charlie now paused from drawing, tapping his pencil against his portfolio. Jack pulled a linen from the lunch box and unwound it to discover Rose had chopped extra fruit up for a fruit salad. He held the container out to Charlie, who accepted a chunk of pineapple. He took a juicy bite and licked his lips, "Can art be a real job?"

Jack popped a strawberry into his mouth, "O'course it can, Charlie. Your mother and I are full-time artists."

"Mom paints?" Charlie furrowed his brow.

"Charlie, there's different kinds of art," Jack grinned, leaning against the trunk. He held the container back out to Charlie and the young boy grabbed a handful of grapes, "Art isn't confined to what you put on paper or a canvas. Your mother paints with words."

"Did you ever make money off your art before you became an editor?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," Jack smirked as he recalled his young artists days with mornings full of wonder and evenings full of good times, "I used to charge people a dime a picture. An extra nickel if they wanted a portrait of themselves."

Charlie looked at the grapes cluttered in his palm for a moment before he lifted his eyes towards his father, "Do you think... I could become an artist?"

Jack took a beat to finish swallowing his strawberries. He sat forward, folding his legs criss-cross. His knee only gave one ache of protest. Jack nodded, looking at his son, "Yes, Charlie, I really think you could. Your art is magnificent. You just need to keep at it. I have no doubt you could be a prosperous artist with your own studio," Charlie was quiet. He looked over the landscape that unfolded in front of them, eating more grapes, "Do you think you want to be an artist?"

Charlie shrugged now, "I don't know."

"I know you could do it, Charlie," Jack said, seriously, "All you need is just a bit more dedication. You're better than I was at your age."

Charlie finished eating his grapes and took a few moments to inspect how his drawing was coming. After a beat, he looked at Jack again, "Why didn't you keep going as a regular artist? Why did you get into magazines?"

"Well," Jack took in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, hunching his shoulders at the same time. He set the container of fruit between them, resting his hands on his knees, "that's just kind of how it happened. I was doing art for a long time. I drew anything and everything. And then I met Wally Deere and my fascination grew into photography... and well," Jack shrugged, "Wally left me the business and your sister was just a baby and your mother was pregnant with you... I guess I took it because I needed it."

"Because art doesn't pay enough?" Charlie asked.

"Charlie, an artist can make as much as they want, as long as they're ambitious and disciplined," Jack shook his head, "I _wanted _to take that route of art. Everyone's path is different. Just because I didn't pursue the drawing path, doesn't mean you can't."

"Dad, I don't know what I want to do," Charlie said, looking towards the mountains, "I like drawing... I like the way I feel when I make art. But I just can't picture myself doing this every day for the rest of my life."

Jack was disappointed to hear this. He leaned against the tree trunk again, propping his portfolio up in his lap, "That's okay, bud... You still have time to make that decision."

"Will you and Mom still love me... even if I don't do art?" Charlie turned his green eyes on his father. Jack smiled and reached out, grabbing his son's arm.

"Charlie, your mother and I will love you no matter what you do."

"Even... if I do stupid things?" Charlie asked, his voice nearly faltering.

Jack squeezed Charlie's sore arm where the bruises were still fading, "Yes, even when you do stupid things. It's all part of growing up, bud."

Just then, a bird squawk rang out. Charlie squinted and looked upwards. Jack shielded his eyes. Right above them, a majestic eagle was circling the sky. It then swooped down and perched itself on a branch not too far from the Dawson boys. Jack nudged his son.

"I'd say that's nature telling you to stop worrying and start drawing," Jack said as he reached for his pencil. Charlie gawked at the eagle nearby, having never been so close to one before. Jack focused on making a few detailed marks on his page. He paused, however, and looked at Charlie, who seemed mesmerized by the large bird, "Maybe art's not what you want to do," Jack shrugged. Charlie cocked his head at his father, "But I'd take some time to weigh all your options out. I think nature just gave you a sign."

Charlie turned his eyes back on the eagle as a gust of wind brushed his unruly blond bangs across his forehead. He absorbed his father's words, admiring every feather on the bird displayed in front of him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as the eagle let out another mighty squawk before using its large wing span to take flight, diving high into the sky with the sunlight bleeding through its majestic coat. Charlie gripped his pencil tightly and returned to drawing alongside his father, weighing every word they had just exchanged.


	20. Voice of Reason

Chapter Twenty

_June 29th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Rose had finished mopping, dusting, polishing, and wiping all the windows down just shortly before the women of the neighborhood committee were due to trickle in. Quickly, Rose stowed the mop and bucket away, tossing the rags she had used in the dirty hamper. She darted into the kitchen just as the tea kettle began to whistle and quickly, she took it to the dining room, setting it between a platter of snickerdoodles and gingersnap cookies she had spent all morning baking from scratch. Rose finally paused for that first time that day and put her hands on her hips, glancing towards the clock perched above the archway of the dining room. Jack would be home soon with Eleanor in tow. Rose decided to open the windows of the dining room that overlooked the front yard. She tied the white velvet curtains back and pulled at the windows until they both opened, allowing a gentle draft across the room. She spied Jack and Eleanor outside the front gate.

On time, as usual, Rose told herself as she went to the kitchen and began pulling out a set of tea cups with saucers. She was hauling them to the table when Jack and Eleanor came through the front door. Rose grinned politely at them as she set the tea cups down at each place mat at the table. Lucky for her, her dining room table comfortably sat eight and she had seven women on the committee.

"Hey," Rose greeted, setting another tea cup down. Jack came towards her and they pecked lips. He then brushed passed her and went to the kitchen, grabbing himself a beer from the ice box, "How was work?" Rose asked, tilting her head to gaze into the kitchen.

"Same old, same old," Jack shrugged as he popped the cap off his bottle, "We just had our first sit-down meeting about the August edition."

"Anything interesting?" Rose asked as she fidgeted with the tea cups to make sure their placing was absolutely perfect. She wiped a few down with a nearby rag to eliminate any smudges or chances of dust. This tea set was rarely used.

"Oh, you know Lance," Jack rolled his eyes as he came back into the dining room, taking a foamy sip of beer, "It's all about the hot-shot life. Boats, pretty ladies, the nightlife... I'm startin' to think he believes it's _his _magazine."

"A man can only dream," Rose laughed, adjusting a lacy placemat on the table. She looked towards Eleanor who had been still and quiet in the front foyer, absorbing the house around her. She had only briefly been in the Dawson's house before when picking Ivan up from his week-long sleepovers. Now, she had the chance to look at the detail and was nearly jealous of Rose's interior design and the little touch of personality she had accrued along every wall, baseboard, and corner of the rooms. The house was welcoming and smelled fresh, there was no clutter, and everything had a home, "Eleanor, why don't you sit down and have some tea? I'm sure you're tired from the office, I know it can get hot in there."

"Oh, thank you," Eleanor nodded, tearing her eyes away from the small portraits Jack had done of the children on the wall, "That sounds refreshing." She chose a seat facing the window, so she could overlook the road. Rose promptly poured her a cup of tea and then seated herself at the end, with her back to the front foyer. She grinned politely and poured herself a cup of tea.

"Well, I'm gonna go see what the kids are doin," Jack stuck his hand in his pocket and arched his eyebrows. Eleanor looked over her shoulder at Jack and Rose took a moment to observe her gaze, "Unless you, uh, wanted me to be here?"

"No, that's alright," Rose grinned now, meeting Jack's eyes, "You'll probably be in charge of beer and the grill, as usual."

"Sounds good," Jack nodded. He glanced to Eleanor and smiled before he went up the stairs and down the hall.

Eleanor found it rather uncomfortable to be sitting at a table alone with Rose Dawson. Eleanor had always liked Rose when the children were younger. She was so organized and in tune. She willingly took the lead on many projects for the school, like expanding the band hall for more students to play in. Repainting the old walls of the school halls that had been massively expanded beyond the original school house it had once been in the mid-1800's. Rose had done a lot for the school and expected a lot of the school in regards to her children's education. Sitting here now, however, Eleanor only felt an inner jealousy, one that even she considered petulant, childish, and school yard-like. But it lingered in the pit of her stomach and she hated how much she wanted everything Rose had.

"So, how has it been at the office?" Rose grinned after taking a curt sip of tea, "I hope Jack has made sure you have all your essentials."

"Oh, he's done plenty," Eleanor said, almost nervously. She gripped her tea cup tightly, so much so, she thought it would crack beneath her grip. She took a long sip of the tea, a hint of lemon becoming present, "I didn't have a type writer at my last job."

"The type writer is the best invention since the curling iron, in my opinion," Rose teased. She laughed lightly, falling against the back of her chair. She cradled her tea against her, "I couldn't do my job without my type writer. It's given me nearly half a decade of service now. Plenty more to come, I'm sure," Rose said as she lifted her cup to her lips.

"Yes, I read your musings every week," Eleanor laughed, rather dryly, "It must be nice when you get to do that monthly column. So many more words to work with."

Rose sat forward, placing her tea cup on the saucer, "Oh, the _Miles City Tribune _contributions are mostly just side-work."

"I imagine with the magazine, you're able to be a full time mother," Eleanor nodded.

Rose tapped her nails to the edge of her saucer for a moment, licking her lips, "I've published six novels, as well."

Eleanor arched her eyebrows, her tea cup abruptly stopping just short of her lips, "You've published _six _novels?"

"I started writing for the newspaper during the Great War," Rose shrugged, lowering her hands to her lap, "I needed a steady weekly income while Jack was gone, just in case I couldn't get the book done. I just never stopped after he came home."

"It must have been so hard for you during that time... having Jack gone sounds like a nightmare," Eleanor shook her head at the thought.

"It was really hard," Rose nodded. She smiled, which surprised Eleanor. Rose took a slow sip of tea, "But it's alright that it was hard... because he came home."

"Out of curiosity... where are you from, originally?" Eleanor asked, reaching for a gingersnap cookie.

"Actually, I grew up smack-dab in the center of Philadelphia," Rose told her, helping herself to a cookie as well. There would be plenty for the women due to arrive in the next half-hour. She wanted this alone time with Eleanor, anyway. She didn't want to belive anything about Eleanor. Rose so dearly wanted to trust her, "What about you?"

"Kansas City," Eleanor laughed at the very idea.

"Oh, I know that tone," Rose chuckled behind her ginger snap cookie, "It doesn't matter because we are both here now in Montana."

"I moved here to marry my husband, Benjamin," Eleanor said, glancing out the window as a butterfly floated past Rose's flower garden, "I met him in Kansas City. I was just a waitress, he was in town for business. I dunno, we just hit it off. He came to my dinky diner every mornin' for breakfast and half a month later, he asked me to come back here, to Miles City, with him," Eleanor tenderly dunked her cookie into her tea and laughed lightly, "I had never even heard of Miles City... but I did it. I left my parents at sixteen to follow him here, far, far away from anyone I knew. I know, that probably sounds horribly reckless."

Eleanor coyly lifted her eyes through her curly hair to see Rose grinning and taking her time to eat her treat. Eleanor felt rather impatient, "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Has Jack ever told you how we met?"

"No," Eleanor shook her head, _You're the last person I want to talk about in the office._

Rose folded her arms across her chest and smiled, "We met on the _Titanic._"

Rose had stated it so bluntly. Eleanor paused from drinking her tea again, "The one that sank?"

Rose nodded in confirmation, "We met aboard the ship and all in that four day time-span we decided to carve whole new lives for ourselves. I was going to leave my family behind for him, simply because I trusted him and he made me feel safe. We survived the sinking and here we are... ten years later."

Eleanor was rather floored. It was a love-story good enough for the cinemas. Deep inside, she only felt that angry jealousy become exacerbated. She wanted nothing more than to find a weak spot in this foundation of love they had made. Just one vulnerability that would allow Jack to give in to her, if only for a portion of the evening.

"Charlie was born exactly one year later," Rose added.

Eleanor exhaled slowly through her nose, reminding herself to not look so rigid. She mustered a grin up, "Well, you two certainly worked quickly."

"We needed him to complete our little family," Rose fondly thought back on the day Charlie had been born. Jack had burst into the room with good news of her novel being accepted. And he had stayed to watch the birth despite Addie's protests and Mark's tender stomach.

"I always wanted more than one child," Eleanor said, throwing in a light hearted shrug, "By the time I had given birth to Ivan, Benjamin's health was already failing. We had been married for _six _years at this point. I had been wanting to get pregnant, _trying_, and Benjamin was reluctant... he wanted his business to get bigger. And he worked himself to the bone doin' it. So I just had Ivan."

"You could always adopt," Rose told her, finishing her tea, "Our family would not be whole without Valentina."

"Oh, I don't know..." Eleanor shook her head, "I don't think it's right for me. There's something special about giving birth to the baby, don't you think?"

"I feel equally bonded to Valentina and Charlie," Rose replied, "Valentina's my own flesh and blood at this point. She's been with Jack and I since she was one years old."

Eleanor was opening her mouth to reply when the front door open. Rose looked over her shoulder and nearly rolled her eyes melodramatically as Betty allowed herself in, holding the door for Maggie. Maggie undid the pins of her flamboyant sun hat, drooping it on the back of the chair across from Eleanor. Quickly, the southern belle scanned the room.

"She's not here yet?" Maggie asked.

"Who?" Rose furrowed her brow, "It's just been me and Eleanor."

Betty squeezed past Maggie to claim the seat beside her, draping her fluid cardigan on the back of it, "Rose, you've only set places for seven. We need eight."

"We only received six yes's," Rose shook her head.

"What about Mrs. Freedman?" Betty said, reaching for a snicker doodle and seating herself.

"You were there," Rose protested, pouring each woman a piping hot cup of tea. She topped her's and Eleanor's off as well, "I don't consider giving the flyer with the committee proposal scribbled on the back to one of her teenage son's a yes."

"I agree with Rose," Maggie declared, tilting her chin up and sipping some tea, "Betty, for goodness sake, he was _smoking. _He was no older than fifteen, at best."

Betty let out a short hoot, "At least I was right about the house. An absolute disaster."

"If she does make an appearance, the saucer and tea cup are in the cupboard, I can get them," Rose shrugged. She looked over her shoulder at the clock ticking away, "Well, I think we're just waiting on Susan, Grace, and Bella at this point."

Those women weren't far behind and soon enough, every seat but one was taken by a member of the neighborhood. Maggie took center stage on decor. She promised to have plenty of time to create quilted flag lines to hang in trees and on fences. Rose promised great food and with the power of Susan's husband the brewmaster, fantastic alcohol would be readily supplied all night. Grace would be able to find sparklers and other small firecrackers. Bella promised dozens and dozens of cupcakes and cookies from the bakery she worked in. Forty-five minutes in, the women had plenty planned. It had all sprouted right before Eleanor's eyes and she watched Rose charismatically direct the conversation fluidly.

"I was thinking maybe three different colors of butter cream," Bella told them, "Red, white, and blue for the cupcakes. The cookies, I was thinking star-shaped!"

"Super cute idea," Maggie nodded, delicately snapping her gingersnap in two, "That will match perfectly with this fabric I just had shipped in from London."

"Well, I should cut the finger sandwiches into stars, then!" Rose grinned and furiously wrote the note down on the pad full of their ideas and sketches of the neighborhood.

"I _love _this theme we got goin'," Maggie giggled.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door and the table of women quickly quieted. Rose arched her eyebrows and stood from her seat. She peered through the glass pane of the door, but the porch light was casting too much of a glare to see a figure. When Rose opened the door, she was greeted by a woman about her height who was slightly more curvy. She had blonde hair with brown roots parted at the center. It fell to her shoulders, completely framing her face. She was wearing a simple cotton dress that was only blue with no designs. In her hand was a cigarette, which was slowly making its way into Rose's front foyer.

"Is this where the neighborhood planning committee is meetin'?" She asked. Her voice was rugged from apparent years of chain smoking.

"Yes, were you interested?" Rose glanced fleetingly towards the smoke wafting into her house.

"Well, you left an invitation to join with my boy, didn't ya?" She flicked her cigarette into Rose's nearby flower garden, "Unless he's forgin' shit again..."

"No, uh, yes," Rose stammered, "I did give your son that note. I'm sorry, I don't think I've caught your name. Mine's Rose Dawson."

"Sheila," She replied curtly, jamming her hands into her jacket that looked to have been through several dozens of seasons, "Sheila Freedman."

"Please, come in," Rose stepped aside, gesturing towards the dining room, "We have a lot of ideas on the table right now. Maybe you'd like to contribute. I have some cookies right here," Rose closed the door as slowly Sheila emerged into the lit dining room, "Have a seat. Let me get you a cup of tea."

Hurriedly, Rose raced to the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen and came back to the table, quickly pouring the tea, "Do you want anything in it?" Rose asked, setting the kettle down. Sheila was seated at the other end of the table, reclined in her seat with her hands laced over her stomach. She smiled when Rose asked.

"Some whiskey, if you got it."

Rose laughed politely, "I have sugar cubes, sugar in the raw, brown sugar, vanilla, and some creamer..." Rose paused when she saw Sheila's unimpressed facial expression, "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you being serious?"

"Don't tell me you don't got any," Sheila laughed dryly, "I apologize. There's... a learning curve to my kind of humor."

Rose reached into the cabinet behind Sheila, setting a bottle of whiskey beside her, "Well, uh, here you go," Rose said, returning to her seat at the opposite end, "Help yourself. There's plenty."

"Sheila, it's so lovely to finally meet you," Betty put on her professional smile, "You're the newest member of our little neighborhood and so I want to say, officially, welcome. Miles City is beautiful. I've lived here for over two decades. I'm raisin' my kiddos here, too."

Sheila glanced around the table for a moment before she leaned over and poured her tea into the house plant beside the antique shelving Rose had thrifted. She filled her tea cup up with whiskey, took a big drink, and then looked to Betty without even flinching, "Yeah, we'll see if it sticks."

"Well, Sheila," Rose said, doing her best not to sound tense, "Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself? Where are you from, originally?"

Sheila took another big drink of whiskey and smiled, mockingly polite, across the table at Rose, "I grew up in Texas," She scanned the table of women, "Yeah, _that _part of Texas. You know, the one with no electricity, no runnin' water. Mexican's everywhere."

"Will you have children attending school this fall?" Susan asked politely after a brief pause to double check she really heard what she just said.

"Yeah, I've got four boys," Sheila replied. She poured some whiskey and offered the bottle outwards, but no woman reached for it. So Sheila clunked it back onto the table beside her, making the tea cups and platters shutter, "As far as attendin'... not sure how much of that they're gonna do."

"We have some really great educators working in that school," Rose told her, "There's a great structure there for the student, really, a resource for anyone."

Sheila looked around the table again, "So, I imagine y'all ladies already had ideas for the party, right? I didn't need to do nothin' more than show some face for you, huh? Is there gonna be alcohol?"

"Yes," Rose replied quietly.

"I best be on my way, then. I'm not much of a social-gal nor a plannin' one," Sheila took one more gulp of whiskey and hopped to her feet, "I'll see y'all there," As she walked towards the door, she fumbled in her coat pocket, withdrawing a cigarette. She already had it lit in the front foyer, despite Rose's protests. The rest of the women on the committee were sat in astounded silence. Rose came to her feet and entered the foyer, where Sheila carelessly exhaled a plume of smoke.

In the next moment, a cough arose. Valentina appeared at the base of the steps, waving the smoke off. Jack appeared behind her, his brow furrowed in confusion. Sheila turned and took one look at Valentina, lowering her cigarette, "What's a negro doing here?"

"Get out of my house," Rose firmly opened the door and pointed to the darkness beyond the front porch, "We aren't going to need your help on the committee after all, Sheila."

"Whatever," Sheila shrugged, casually strolling towards the door, "I wouldn't want to hear the ideas of a negro-lover, anyway," Sheila paused for a moment, taking a deep inhale on her cigarette. She then jabbed it into Rose's wrist, who yelped and pulled away. Sheila smirked and walked off the front porch, already working on lighting another cigarette. Rose slammed the door shut and cursed loudly, momentarily forgetting everybody who occupied that room. She rubbed at her wrist sorely, looking towards the growing welt from the burn. Rose then lifted her eyes to look at Valentina, who was absolutely stunned in spot.

"Valentina," Rose began towards her, but immediately, Valentina turned on her heels and squeezed past her father, bounding up the stairs and down the hall to her room. The door slammed shut shortly after. "Dammit," Rose whispered, shaking her head.

...

"... pompous, smart-aleck, mocking woman!" Rose finished as she thrashed about her room, going through her nightly routine by slamming drawers and brushing harshly at her curls, uncaring of the bristles rubbing against her scalp. She paused at her vanity and looked towards Jack, who was already laying in bed. Rose's face was tinged red across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, "How _dare _she comes into _our _home, drinks _our _whiskey, lights up a cigarette, and _insults _Valentina all in the span of twenty minutes! Who does she think she is?!"

"Yeah," Jack sighed, sinking into his pillow. He was still combing through and trying to process the confusing chain of events he had walked in on in the front foyer, "Really makes you wonder if it was the boy's who had them chased out of town or if it was the actual adults..."

Rose returned to brushing through her curls. Jack glanced at her reflection. He could tell she was wound up, flustered, and frustrated. Rose stood from her vanity, not even bothering to wipe her make up off. She went to her side of the bed and sat down, "Charlie is not allowed anywhere near any member of that family, Jack. We brushed it all to the wayside, boys will be boys; well, not anymore. These are not people I want my son anywhere near. They're bad influences and, not too mention, they're trouble."

"After that encounter, I don't think Lawrence is some harmless friend that will just have Charlie doing petty misdeameanors..." Jack shook his head.

"Petty crime is no different than a serious offense for Charlie, Jack," Rose pulled the quilts up on herself and propped herself up in bed. She laced her hands together over her stomach, "Charlie must _not _engage in any of it," Rose let out a sigh and rubbed tiredly at her face, "This neighborhood party is off to a horrible start, Jack."

"Well, you know Sheila is just going to be there to drink," Jack shrugged, "She doesn't like to talk and you don't want to talk to her. It's a win-win. Just keep doing what you're doing."

"I can already see it now..." Rose sighed, as if it was the end of the world. She sank down in her pillows, her eyes gazing towards the familiar ceiling above, "It will be a night of pick pocketing. People will get home and find their wallets missing... they'll find the back window of their living room busted out... Little trinkets will be missing, you know," Rose turned her head towards Jack, "the stuff that's sold for a quick coin that's just enough for a bottle of alcohol."

"No, no..." Jack shook his head and scooted closer to Rose, wrapping his arms around his anxiety-ridden wife who was bundled tightly in the safety of her quilts. Rose rested her head against Jack's shoulder, inhaling the calming scent of his skin. Jack gently stroked Rose's curls, "Your big imagination is getting ahead of yourself. The Freedman's may be trouble, but they're not dumb. In fact, I think they're actually quite clued in. They know how the rumor mill operates, they know how to get information. People like that stay much more informed than you would think. In fact, I think that's why Sheila showed up tonight."

"What do you mean?" Rose tilted her head up.

"Well, she probably knows most of the women around here have been whispering. I saw Betty with Mrs. Bea last week at the plaza by the train station and I just know she was gossiping," Jack said, looking deep into those emerald eyes he was so in love with, "Not only is Sheila the new woman in town, but her boys are wild. She is no stranger to the webs of gossip. She came last night to give you all what you wanted. But with a little flair, so you'd get the message to mind your own business."

Rose blinked for a moment, absorbing what Jack had just said. She licked her lips and cocked her head to look at him again, "So, it was all just a show?"

"Well... I think she really is that unpleasant," Jack shrugged, "But I don't think she's that uppity all the time. She was just being cocky with all you ladies. She wanted to blind side all of you, create a stir, and you know what? It worked."

Rose let out a deep sigh and sunk into Jack, "You're always the voice of reason..."

Jack grinned and reached over Rose, turning the lamp off and plunging the room into darkness. The bed creaked as the couple adjusted themselves. Rose pressed herself into Jack, their arms and legs tangling around each other. Jack inhaled the heavenly scent of her hair as his cheek sunk against her head. Just outside the window, the chirping of cicadas could be heard. The couple was silent as they laid in bed. Jack gently rubbed Rose's back, hoping she had blown enough steam off to drift to sleep.

"If I ever hear that woman utter another word about Valentina, you're going to have to bail me out of jail," Rose suddenly said into his chest. Jack's eyes opened. He smirked at the comment and readjusted himself in the bed, sighing and falling against Rose again.

"I keep a little extra in my sock drawer," Jack laughed. Rose relished in the sound, cuddling closer to him, "I always imagined it would be bail for either me or Mark, but hey, it's yours, too, if you think you need it."

Rose smiled up at Jacks face, which looked so lovely bathed in the milky moonlight shedding through their cream sheer curtains. Tenderly, her slender finger carressed his bottom lip, baiting him closer to her. She grinned when his face was just inches from her. All she could think about was how much she loved him. How absolutely perfect he was for her. After a moment, she crushed her lips against his, pulling forcefully on his arms to get him on top of her.


	21. A New Flame

Chapter Twenty-One

_June 30th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Rose's body woke her up sharply at five in the morning. Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbow and scanned the room. The first hints of the day were beginning to shed through the curtains. Beside her, Jack slept soundly, his face sunken into his pillow. Rose dressed quickly and quietly. As she powdered her face, she looked to Jack in the reflection of her vanity, watching his chest rise and fall beneath the quilts he was buried in. In her stocking feet, she padded across the bedroom and left, carefully easing the door shut behind her. She headed downstairs, deadset on making an elaborate breakfast. As she pulled all the bowls and utensils out, she focused on the ingredients she needed. Rose had come to find a comfort in being in the kitchen. As a child, she was never expected to lift a finger. No need to even wander to the ice box, someone else would bring it to her. The love she found of baking and cooking was profound. She liked losing herself in the task of properly measuring and mixing. She liked the feeling of impatiently peaking into the oven, wondering if it was ready or not. And the best part of all, she enjoyed watching her family eat it.

Rose clattered about in the kitchen, gingerly pouring some flour into a bowl and deftly taking a handful of sugar to add. She went to the sink, discarding a dirty dish in the basin. Rose glanced out the window above the sink, catching the first glimpse of the morning rays piercing over the mountain top. Rose paused, resting her dirty hands against the rim of the sink. She simply watched the day break. Rose chewed at her lip for a moment as the birds began tweeting. She turned back towards the island to continue with her plan of french toast with fruit pastries. When she spun around, however, she was startled, and nearly let out a yelp.

Valentina, still clad in her nightgown, house slippers, and cotton robe, was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Her voluminous hair puffed out around her as she let out a yawn, shuffling across the kitchen tile. Rose lowered her whisk, observing as Valentina poured herself a cup of orange juice that had been freshly squeezed by Jack yesterday morning.

"Good morning, Tina," Rose said, as she began whisking the egg yolks to mix into her french toast batter, "You're up very early. Did you sleep alright?"

Valentina seated herself at the barstools surrounding the island. She placed her head in her hand and simply shrugged, "My body always wakes me up at this time. Usually I just read, but... I heard you down here."

"I'm sorry, was I too loud?" Rose glanced at Valentina as she poured the whisked eggs into the bowl of flour and sugar.

"No, it's fine," Valentina shook her head and took a drink of her juice, "I'm glad you're down here... I, uh... I wanted to talk to you."

Rose set the second dirty bowl into the sink, "I wanted to talk to you, too. That's why I'm up so early making a big breakfast."

Valentina weakly grinned as her eyes scanned along the cluttered counters at all the ingredients. She spied powdered sugar and strawberry preserves in glass jars fresh from the farmer's market. Valentina looked towards her mother, "You really love to have heart-to-heart's over breakfast, don't you?"

Rose laughed at the mature dryness Valentina had in her sarcasm. Rose smiled as she began working the eggs into the flour and sugar, watching it slowly thicken before her very eyes, "You'd be surprised how easily hearts are won over by decadent little pastries in the early hours of the morning," Rose paused and lifted her whisk to test the consistency of the dough. She peered at her daughter over her dirty utensil, "If you have a business idea, pitch it over breakfast."

"Is that one of your musings?" Valentina asked from behind her glass of juice.

"It's real life advice," Rose replied, pulling a wooden spoon out and continuing on the dough.

Valentina swung her dangling legs back and forth, her slippers threatening to fall off. She fingered the rim of her glass and curiously peaked up at her mother as she worked on breakfast, "Is your wrist okay?"

Rose paused from her task, taking a beat to stare into the bowl before she mustered a grin and nodded, "Yes, it's fine. In just a few days, it will be like it was never there."

"I'm really sorry," Valentina lowered her eyes.

"Why in the world would _you _be sorry?" Rose arched her eyebrows, "None of this was your fault, Valentina."

"I shouldn't have interrupted the meeting. I was just really hungry and Daddy said it would be okay if we slipped into the kitchen..." Valentina shook her head, her hair bobbing with her movement. She was obviously frustrated with herself, "That woman was very upset with me."

Rose set her spoon down and grabbed a hand towel off the counter. Tenderly, she wiped her hands as she seated herself in the barstool beside Valentina. Rose shook her head, reaching out and touching her daughter's wrist, "Valentina, you did nothing wrong. This is _your _house, too. Just because I'm chatting with some friends downstairs, doesn't mean you can't come down for a snack. You didn't interrupt anything. That woman was on her way out. She's a very rude and close minded woman. And I want you to stay away from her and her son's."

Valentina pursed her lips and shifted back and forth in her chair, "Do people avoid you and Daddy for being negro-lovers?"

Rose closed her eyes at the phrase. She despised it. And worst of all, she didn't _understand _it. All throughout her life, she watched stuffy aristrocratic people who lived in bubbles declare who were real humans and who were subhumans. Rose couldn't understand the idea of not seeing the preciousness in every life. The phrase "negro-lover" had been tossed about quite a bit around Rose, as if the words were worthless in weight. Rose had spent years brushing aside the rather surprised or quizzical looks she would receive upon saying her daughter's name out loud. Rose couldn't give a hoot about what any of them thought because she loved Valentina endlessly. Valentina was considered as much of a Dawson as Rose thought of herself. Jack and Rose had devoted the last ten years raising Valentina on the same level of intensity in love and nurturing as they had done for their own flesh and blood son. To the Dawson parents, Valentina _was _their daughter.

Rose finally willed herself to look at the awaiting Valentina. Deep in those honey brown eyes, she could see a little girl who was confused and conflicted. She knew the young girl had large ambitions that spanned to every corner of the universe. Rose wanted nothing more than to lift her up and show her to the world. She was a true gem, Rose thought, and the world was missing out by overlooking her. Rose pursed her lips for a moment and took a deep breath, giving Valentina's wrist a squeeze at the same time.

"If there are people like that," Rose said quietly, barely above a whisper, "your father and I wouldn't want anything to do with them, anyway. There are people in this world, Valentina, that use hurtful words. Words they could never imagine the weight they carry. The people who spew this ignorant nonsense have never been singled out in their entire life. They could never understand how much these words could actually hurt. But people who say these things... they're weak minded. They've never had to fend for themselves. That's what makes you stronger," Gently, Rose reached out, brushing her slender fingers through Valentina's thick curly hair, "You have the drive and the work ethic to obtain all the things you want. You're better than them because they can talk all they want, but they can't stop you, Valentina. It's not your fault and you shouldn't even have to worry about my relationships with other people. I don't care what people think because I love you, Valentina. I love you so much and I hope you know that, baby."

Valentina lowered her eyes again, "Do you ever think about... how different your life could have been if you only had Charlie?" Valentina looked at her mother, "If... you had never gone to Texas, after all?"

Rose gazed at her daughter with glassy eyes that shimmered in the soft morning light that was steadily becoming brighter. Rose took an unsteady breath, shaking her head, "I haven't imagined a day of my life without you since I first held you in my arms."

"You've never thought what it would be like to have a normal family?" Valentina asked.

"This family, to me, _is_ normal," Rose replied, a curl falling against the frame of her face, "I couldn't imagine our family any other way. You're a Dawson, Valentina. Through and through."

Valentina took an unsteady sip of juice and gnawed on her lip for a moment, "I guess... I just needed to hear you say it," Valentina tucked her hands into her lap rather meekly, "Everything just seemed to fall in on itself so fast..." Valentina furrowed her brow, "That history club I joined in April was my first exposure to the history of African-American's. And then... not getting the chair and that woman last night and that _dumb_ blonde girl from New York City and-"

Valentina cut herself short, snapping her mouth shut. She hunched her shoulders and seemingly stewed in her bar stool. Rose could tell she was at her boiling point. Rose licked her lips, tapping her nails to the counter, "You can rant, Valentina. You can say whatever you want. I won't breath a word to anyone else. The only thing you can't do is bottle it up."

Valentina was quiet for what seemed like awhile. Her brown eyes remained trained to the counter, following the swirls in the marble pattern. Finally, she huffed and said, "I don't know who I'm supposed to be."

"Who do you _want _to be?" Rose asked.

Valentina laughed at herself and shrugged, "That's the problem. I have no idea," Valentina sighed and rubbed pensively at her tired eyes, "I thought I wanted to play the trumpet. But now, I'm not so sure music is the right path for me."

"But you're great at the trumpet," Rose straightened her back, knitting her eyebrows together, "One audition that didn't result in a chair is _not _going to end your career, Tina. Who cares about the Junior Orchestra? You're destined for bigger things. You could have your own orchestra."

"Hah, fat chance," Valentina settled her head back into her hand, "Like anyone wants to watch an illegitimate black girl conduct music."

"Tina!" Rose squeaked, her eyes growing wide as saucers. The young girl's vocabulary was growing to be quite broad and colorful, "Where in the world did you hear that phrase?!"

"I read it in a book," Valentina said, seemingly innoncent, "I used it correctly, didn't I?"

Rose sighed and shook her head, "That's not the point."

"I just don't think music is right for me," Valentina insisted, finishing the last of her juice, "I don't want to end up like Anita Strong. She has a burning hatred for the instrument and being in these orchestras is worse than math homework for her," Valentina shrugged, "I don't want to feel like that towards the trumpet..."

"Well, if not music... then what else?" Rose asked.

Valentina pondered for a moment, narrowing her eyes as she searched deep into her mind, "I found this newspaper in an archive at the library... it was just from two or three years ago," Valentina told her mother, sitting up straighter now, "It was called _The Colored Citizen_ and it's written and printed in Helena. I really liked the way they wrote and it was entirely made up of black writers. It seems like there's actually a large workforce of black journalists."

"So, you want to do journalism?"

"Do you think I could write?" Valentina turned her big brown eyes on her mother, "And... I mean, I guess it's not _all _just about writing, but also finding the truth. Exposing it. Unwinding it for all it is. Daddy said journalism was about being honest and informative. I read in the _New York Times _that journalism was about peace and justice."

Rose saw a whole new light, a new kind of flame, inside of her daughter. She could see what started as sorrow had been fired into a solid ingot of passion. A somewhat angry drive to do something about what she was now seeing. That bright young girl Rose had always seen was maturing into a brilliant young woman. She wielded a power Rose only wish she had at the stark age of eleven. Rose smiled, every muscle in her body quaking.

"I think you could do it," Rose said gently, reaching out and touching Valentina's knee tenderly, "In fact... I _know _could do it," Rose felt her entire world grow brighter as, finally, Valentina gave her a real smile. Rose took a moment to run a thumb gingerly over Valentina's knee, "But... you'll still keep the trumpet as a hobby, right?"

Valentina laughed lightly at the idea and nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear, "Yes, Momma, I promise to keep playing the trumpet."

Rose grinned and leaned forward, pecking Valentina on the forehead. She glanced out the window above the sink, spying that the sky was slowly waning into a mixture of pinks and oranges. Jack would be waking up within the next hour and, hopefully, would have the groggy night-owl that was their son in tow. Rose clapped her hands together.

"So, do you want to help me make some strawberry jam pastries for breakfast?"

Valentina eagerly bucked up, "Can I have the first one hot out of the oven?"

Rose laughed, coming to her feet. Lovingly, she ran her hand through Valentina's voluminous curls, "Of course, my love. Now, can you grab three eggs from the ice box for me?"

...

Eleanor seemed rather chipper that morning at the office. She had convinced Jack to allow her to completely uproot and re-work the filing system of the magazine business. Since there wasn't a lot of paperwork to be done yet in regards to August's edition, Jack figured it was the perfect time for Eleanor to implement it for the real test come mid-July. Eleanor was eager for the project because it meant more time in Jack's office, where more than three quarters of the paperwork for the past five years were kept.

Jack himself was in a relatively good mood as well. He had awoken that morning to the smell of fresh pastries and sugary syrup. Charlie awoke without much of a fuss and he was greeted by the smiling faces of Rose and Valentina working over the oven. Valentina seemed to be in high spirits at the breakfast table, which had been a weight off Jack's shoulders. Jack could tell Rose and Valentina had already been up for quite awhile by the time the Dawson boys clunked down the stairs.

It was also a relatively easy time of the month for him at work. The transition from one month to the next mostly only brought topic pitches and photograph approvals for Jack to work through leisurely and with a critical artistic eye. He was considering taking the next few days off leading up to the Fourth of July to spend more time with the kids while Rose inevitably became preoccupied by her neighborhood party.

Jack leaned back in his office chair and it let out a creak. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes trained on the one lone photograph he had on his desk. It had been there for the past seven years and he had no intention of ever moving it. It was a rather grainy photo he had taken with a camera he had found in a hotel closet. It was nothing fancy. It was a picture of a young Rose when her firey red curls were much longer. She was holding a fussy baby Charlie and had her other hand tenderly atop the head of a young camera-shy toddler Valentina, who was holding on to Rose's leg. Rose was beaming, mid-laugh, her eyes trained towards the camera. The kids were obviously not cooperating. They were standing in front of their large house that still felt new to the young family.

Suddenly, Eleanor's voice ripped through his nostalgic mindset, "Hey, Jack."

"Yeah?" Jack leaned forward in his chair and arched his neck to peer at where she was seated on the ground, dozens of stacks of papers spiraling out around her. She was wearing another flashy dress and her bossom was begging to burst at the seams where the neckline swooped. Jack sheepishly averted his eyes, reorganzing some papers on his desk.

Eleanor didn't look up from the paper she was reviewing. Deftly, she shifted through the stacks and then said, "Did you maybe want to get lunch today?"

"What's the occassion?" Jack asked, wondering in the back of his mind if maybe Rose had been right that night. That maybe Eleanor's ideas _were _wrong. Jack glanced to the secretary and gnawed on his lip for a moment, _Surely she's just grateful... Maybe she's been in a position where that gratefulness translates to..._

"Well," Eleanor came to her feet and immediately seated herself on the edge of Jack's desk. She grinned widely, "just so neither one of us forgets to take a break! Or I could bore you to death over a nice soup about the logistics of this filing system. Your choice."

"Thanks for the invitation," Jack said gently, folding his hands together on his desk, "But I think I'll go home and have lunch with Rose today. We have a lot of leftovers from dinner last night."

"Oh, I just want to borrow you for lunch!" Eleanor reached our and pinched Jack's arm, "I promise she can have you for dinner! I'd like to have a meal with at least _someone _during the week!"

Jack let out a silent sigh and shrugged now, "Alright, I'll have lunch with you today. That way you have your guest of the week. I'm probably going to be taking the rest of the week off."

"Really?" Eleanor arched her eyebrows, "How come?"

Jack stood from his chair and began reaching for his coat and cane. Eleanor got to her feet completely, as well, folding her hands in front of her, "I need to spend some time with my kids," Jack said as he shrugged the coat on, double checking his wallet and cigarettes were there, "I usually do take more time off in the summer to help Rose when the kids are home full-time. She still has books to write, y'know?" Jack opened the door of his office and the two began weaving between the desks for the front door. Eleanor quickly yanked her purse off the back of her chair as they left, "The magazine has just been so busy. I mean, it's booming," Jack continued as they stepped off the front porch of the old house the business inhabited.

"You guys receive more letters than the post office," Eleanor remarked teasingly.

Jack smirked, "It's almost too much. I'm going to have to tell one of my backers to slow down."

"Oh, no, don't do that," Eleanor shook her head as they found the main street and began their rather aimless walk, "Benjamin did that once and the backer was insulted and simply backed out completely. The men in that business are rather sensitive creatures."

"Well, that inflated ego is easy to float on when the entire world has always revolved around you," Jack laughed, his shoulders bobbing, "This broker is different, though. He's my friend."

"You know how friendship goes in the business industry," Eleanor gave him a side eye, "Who might this broker be that you have such a good relationship with?"

"His name is Caledon Hockley," Jack said, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"The Wall Street Tycoon?"

"Damn, doesn't matter where you are or who you talk to," Jack shrugged, "Everybody knows who he is."

"Did you not follow that _fiasco _the tabloids had with him from 1912 to 1915?" Eleanor arched her eyebrows, "Dead fiancée on the _Titanic_, another dead fiancée the _same year_. He was acquitted! A drug user! And girls idolized him because he was cute. Don't you think he's a little reckless?"

Jack took a moment to think back on the turbulent years of Cal's life just a decade ago. After he was found not guilty in Frieda's murder, he and the Dawson's remained in contact for the next seven months. It wasn't long before Cal fell into a long train of addiction, full of cocaine, alcohol, nicotine, and sometimes even pills. He was seen with pretty girlfriends all the time and also partied in public and went to meetings at work intoxicated. He made reckless decisions in the company and the family feud between he and his father won front page on nearly all the newspapers across the nation, almost like a warning to the hundreds of companies that trusted the Hockley name to invest properly and with minimal risk. Jack cleared his throat.

"He's cleaned up since then," Jack told her, throwing a glance her direction as well, "He's married, he's got children... He's a better man."

"Sounds like you've known him for awhile."

"Well, you said it just a minute ago. _Titanic._"

Eleanor stared forward for a moment and blinked, "Did you own the business at that time?"

"Nope," Jack shook his head curtly, "That came about later."

Eleanor stopped walking. Jack went just a few more paces before he paused and turned towards her, his eyebrows arched, "You say he's a good man now. You were there on the _Titanic _with him. He's a very rich man and I fail to believe his fiancée couldn't get to a lifeboat. What happened to that woman?"

Jack shuffled his feet for a few moments and looked to her, shrugging sheepishly, "She became my wife." And with that, Jack turned back around and continued up the street, looking all around, "Hey, let's go to that new hamburger joint over on LaRow," Jack stopped and looked at her, "You can tell me all about your new filing system."

Eleanor shifted the weight on her feet and sighed when his smile brought her back into the moment. It made her trust Jack despite the unnerving business plans he had told her, which had her returning to the dimly lit dining room table where Benjamin was devising the same exact idea that would lead to a complete dry up in funds in the next six months, and from there, failing heart conditions from the gutted Benjamin. She couldn't let the same happen to Jack. But in that moment, she decided to let it go and trust Jack knew what he was doing.

"You eat hamburgers, right?" Jack asked, still patiently waiting for her up the road.

"Yes," Eleanor grinned and came to stand beside Jack. She set her hand on his arm, gripping it tenderly, "I trust you know what you're doing, Jack. I know you won't muck it up like Benjamin did." Jack furrowed his brow as Eleanor continued forward, her purse beating against her hip, "Come on. I'm starving. You're talkin' to a girl who didn't eat breakfast this morning."

After a moment of hesitation, Jack followed Eleanor.


	22. No Solutions

Chapter Twenty-Two

_July 2nd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack was sat hunched over the kitchen table, his brow furrowed deeply in concentration. All around him, the large picture windows allowed the warm early afternoon light to fall on him. He clenched his jaw as he carefully ran his hands along the edge of a piece of paper. Beside him sat Valentina. She was wearing a bright yellow dress with red trimming. Matching bows accompanied her french braids that fell down her back in thick plaits.

Valentina arched her neck forward towards the book that was opened between them, "Then it says to fold this part under..." Valentina gingerly tapped on a triangular piece of paper jutting out from the side of her folds. Jack double checked, glancing back and forth between his and her's. Together, they slowly went through the motion of folding it down and creating a tight and straight fold in the paper.

In the next moment, the front door was opening, shedding the entire foyer in sunlight. The sounds of Rose and her friend Maggie echoed up the vaulted ceiling of the entrance. They entered the kitchen not long after the door shut. Rose was carrying kite string. Bundled in Maggie's arms were brightly colored fabrics of reds, whites, and blues.

"Hey, you two," Rose greeted, pausing at the end of the table with a grinning Maggie, "What are you doing?"

"I'm showin' Daddy how to do origami," Valentina replied. She nudged her father with her elbow, "Show Momma the frog we did earlier."

Jack smirked and reached towards the windowsill behind them. Rose spied nearly half a dozen little origami creatures perched on the sill. Jack held out a small folded piece of white paper. Rose grinned when she saw the outline of the frog. It wasn't very impressive for the art work Jack was capable of, however. The poor little paper frog was slighty crooked and he tilted when he was left to sit by himself on a surface. Rose laughed as she gingerly took the frog into her hand.

"Valentina is much better at it than I am," Jack grinned, folding his hands together, "I say she has an advantage with those little fingers."

"Origami is a practice of patience and a skill of deftness," Valentina protested, "It said it at the beginning of the book, remember? Don't blame your fingers on this!"

The adults of the room let out a round of laughter at Valentina's rebuttal. Rose placed the paper frog back down on the table in front of the duo, "Well, you have to start somewhere. Looks like you're having fun. Do either of you know where Charlie is?"

"Yeah," Jack returned to following Valentina meticulously close on their current origami project, "He's been up in his room messin' with his trains."

"Maybe you and the kids should take advantage of your days off," Rose arched her eyebrows at her husband. He paused from his folding, flicking his bangs from his face, "It's quite beautiful out, don't you think?"

"Message received loud and clear," Jack grinned, "We'll finish our geese and be done."

"Daddy, they're swans."

"Right. After that, we're outta here."

...

Because it was such a nice day, Maggie and Rose occupied the large table the Dawson's had on the shaded deck behind their house. A gentle draft blew between the wooden columns, brushing the women's hair over their shoulders. Together, they worked efficiently at stringing the first batch of mock-up's Maggie had sewed for the decorative flags.

"Geez, I hope these look alright..." Her southern accent rang out in her uncertainty. She adjusted the hat pin situated in her wavy hair, "This was the most fabric efficient pattern I could find in the whole mountain range. It ain't like New York and California where every pattern is at your disposal."

"I think they look nice," Rose replied, her eyes trained downward as she hand sewed the kite string across the top, "I appreciate you taking the time to make these."

"Are you kiddin' me," Maggie let out a hearty laugh, pulling more kite string through the eye of her needle, "I've been bitin' at the chomp for any reason to use my sewin' machine. Little William hasn't grown enough to give me an excuse for a whole new elaborate wardrobe. And Max will just tear what I give him to shreds. Eight year old boys are ruthless."

"Oh, Charlie went through that phase," Rose chuckled and shook her head, "We're on the outskirts now. Just ice cream stains, dirt smudges, and sometimes tears in the knees or cuffs. For awhile I was at my wit's end, especially when he was seven. I was running out of clothes to put on that boy's back."

Maggie grinned. She made a few more stitches before taking a curt breath and saying, "So, I see Jack's takin' some time off work afterall?"

"Just this week," Rose replied, glancing towards the screen door. The figures of Jack and Valentina at the table were gone. She assumed Jack had collected Charlie and taken the kids out for some afternoon fun, "He's trying to help during this neighborhood party fiasco."

"I still cannot believe what we witnessed at that first meetin'," Maggie's smile had grown bigger now and she paused, lowering the flags to her lap, "That woman has got some nerve. That's the difference between a southern belle and a hick, remember that."

"Well," Rose stabbed her needle forcefully through the fabric, "hopefully she'll never want to talk to us again. I hope on the Fourth of July, she drinks herself silly and stays away from my daughter."

"Honey, she don't got a leg to stand on," Maggie shook her head, returning to her stitchwork, "If she wants to, for once, get her life outta boxes, she won't even bat an eye at any of us ever again."

Rose made a few more tight stitches before she looked towards the diligently working blonde woman, "Do you think Max and Charlie would make good play mates? I mean, they're barely a year apart. Does Max like trains and cars and bicycles?"

"Anythin' that moves fast is his favorite," Maggie nodded, glancing up fleetingly from her work.

"I think we should set up a play date for them," Rose said, "Charlie could really use it, Maggie. He's had a really pitiful summer so far."

"I'm more than happy to have Charlie come over or to send Max over," Maggie grinned, "It'd be nice for Max to have an older friend to look out for him. The boy's a twig. No matter how much butter bread you feed him, he's a stick. He's got my daddy's genes in 'im," Maggie clucked her tongue, watching the sun reflect off her needle, "Max also goes to this club twice a week. It's an engineering club at the library."

"You know, Jack and I tried to get Charlie to go to that at the beginning of the summer and he refused," Rose shook her head, making another neat stitch, "Does Max like it?"

"Oh, he loves it," Maggie nodded, her eyes fixated on her stitch work that was dainty and graceful, the embodiment of the self-proclaimed southern belle, "The sponsors in that group do some super work with the kids. Max is always comin' home with fun gadgets made out of every day house materials and it's really got him interested in all that science stuff," Maggie shrugged, "I don't know understand any of it, but all I know is its got his attention and, to me, that's good."

"Do you think it's too late to sign Charlie up?" Rose asked, "Since summer is already half-way over..."

"Oh, no, of course not," Maggie shook her head, "New kids are joining all the time."

"Hmmmm..." Rose pondered deep into her mind. She had to find a way to convince Charlie to go to that engineering club. She would drag him kicking and screaming if she had to, she told herself. She knew if Charlie just gave it a shot, he'd probably enjoy it. Well, he would at least have more fun during the day than he currently was.

...

Jack took the kids out to get milkshakes. When he had offered the treat, he had watched their faces light up. Rose was less forthcoming with giving the kids sweet things, so Jack took it upon himself, marking it under the category of fatherly duties. He took them to Rose's favorite diner, the one she herself had had milkshakes in since the day they had moved to Miles City. Valentina ordered a strawberry milkshake, Charlie a chocolate. The kids then dashed off to find a booth while Jack paid at the counter, ordering himself a vanilla milkshake. After he finished paying, he turned around and scanned the dining room area for the kids while tucking his wallet into his back pocket. He paused when he saw the booth the children had picked out. It was one full of memories for him.

This was the same booth Rose would choose when she and Jack were meeting up for lunch when they first moved to Miles City. She had been very pregnant with Charlie at the time and would haul squirmy Valentina to the diner because she craved the silky ice cream so badly. It was always a delight for Jack to see the biggest grin on Rose's face while she sucked down a chocolate milkshake, her belly bulging with their future child. It felt like another lifetime to Jack and he was amazed in that moment as he slid into the booth across from his children by how much time had actually passed. Sitting directly in front of him were his pre-adolescent children who were springing up like wild weeds. It would only be another blink of an eye before they would be setting off to make their own path in the world.

Valentina sat up straight in her spot in the booth, her hands folded politely atop the table. Jack knew she probably had her ankles crossed as well. Her mannerisms reflected much of Rose from her years of observation. No matter how much Rose tried to break the habits, she was never able to shake the prim and proper training she had received as a child and now it had accidentally rubbed off on their own daughter, who had no idea the turmoil and self-conscious feelings Rose had towards her on-command actions when she was younger.

Beside her, Valentina's little brother slouched, as usual. Despite Rose's old wife-tale's of warnings telling Charlie it would stunt his growth, the young boy was not at all concerned with his posture. He looked around the diner with his big curious green eyes, soaking in the everchanging wall decor of the local hot-spot.

Jack bobbed his knee for a moment and licked his lips, "Valentina, are you making sure Melody and Oliver are coming to the Fourth of July shin-dig this weekend?"

"Yeah, their parents are coming, too," Valentina nodded, "It will be good to see them."

"Do we have to go?" Charlie asked, tearing his eyes away from the picture of the Miles City Volunteer Fire Department.

"Of course you do," Jack told his son, "Your mother has been working very hard on planning this. I want to see you both full of sugar and running with sparklers on Saturday."

"Wait, today's Thursday?" Charlie arched his eyebrows. Jack nodded. Charlie felt the inside of his body flush when he realized what tomorrow evening would mean. He looked out the window at the few people bobbing past that hot summer day. Anxiety overtook him and he began biting at his nails.

Just then, a waitress appeared balancing three tall glasses with straws on a platter. She quickly passed the milkshakes out to the right people and flashed them all a grin before hustling on to her next table. Jack watched as his children sat forward in their booth, their lips magnetically attracted to the straw leading into their dairy-delight.

"I'm serious about Saturday," Jack told them, giving his vanilla malt a stir, "This isn't going to be an ordinary weekend evening. I want you two to stay up late and stay out of the house. I want you out and about the neighborhood and I want you being nice to every single kid you talk to," Jack took a sip of his milkshake. He had developed quite a sweeth tooth since his return from France and he was secretly glad the kids were more enthusiastic about the idea of milkshakes than he was. Jack paused, however, wiping his lips with his napkin, "Oh, but one big thing I need you two to do for me is stay away from the Freedman family. I don't want you talking to any of them."

"I'm just going to be with Melody and Oliver," Valentina told him.

"Charlie, did you hear me, bud?" Jack asked, knowing this information was really more for Charlie's ears rather than Valentina's. Valentina already was off-put by the matriarch of the Freedman family and she would have no interest in hanging out with rambunctious teenage boys. Jack was worried, however, his socially-anxious son would attach to someone he knew, even if it meant overlapping with any of the Freedman boys.

"Yeah, I heard you," Charlie looked fleetingly towards his father before lowering his eyes back towards his draining milkshake. Jack knew something was swatting around in the boy's mind but chose not to push on the issue. Jack tried to chalk it up as nothing unusual, hoping his son's mind was simply on his model trains or dreaming about his bicycle or maybe even thinking about art. That's what Jack could only hope, he thought, as he looked between both his children behind their milkshakes.

...

Rose was mumbling to herself, as usual, when she was deep in thought and scribbling into a leather bound journal. Jack listened to her converse and debate with herself as he brushed his teeth and washed his face before bed. He could hear the scratch of her pen as she flew across the page, taking note of everything and anything of importance to her. Jack popped open the medicine cabinet and took a pain pill as his wife muttered and shook her head at herself, scratching through a line on the page. Jack flicked the light off but hovered in the doorway of the bathroom, his eyes simply glued to his beautiful wife.

He loved when she was unaware of his staring. She constantly claimed he had an effect on women, but Jack was beginning to doubt Rose was unaware of her presence around men. Even with a furrowed brow and her hair messily clipped atop her head as she lounged in bed in a loose nightgown, she was absolutely angelic. Despite being lost in her own mind, she had aura about her that seemed to change the mood of a room. Even after all their time together, Jack couldn't help but stare at that woman, as if it was the first time he was laying eyes on her again.

"I can feel your eyes," Rose said softly without looking away from her journal.

"Sorry," Jack grinned boyishly and began rounding the bed. He stopped at the foot, looking towards his wife, "I can't help it sometimes."

Rose looked up from her journal. She was grinning softly, tapping her pen against her jaw. Her bedside lamp gave her porcelain skin a warm glow, "Well, I'm certainly nothing to look at in this state."

"You're always beautiful. Even when you're talking to yourself," Jack laughed, pulling the quilts back on his side of the bed. Slowly, he lowered himself down onto the bed and let out a long sigh, sinking his head against the pillow.

"Long day with the kids?" Rose asked, furiously taking another note in her journal.

"No, the kids were fine," Jack shook his head as he massaged his knee, "It's just the heat. I don't know why, it just wears me out and makes me ache."

"Goodness, you sound like my grandmother," Rose coyly grinned at Jack from the side of her eye. Rose wrote for just a moment more before she lifted her pen and looked at Jack, "Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, thanks, though," Jack tilted his head back to relish in the comfort of laying down, "It won't be long until the medicine kicks in. What're you working on?" He nodded his head at the journal propped up in her lap.

"Oh, just all the last minute things we'll need to do for the party tomorrow and the day of," Rose told him, looking over her notes, "Maggie and I will go hang all the bush and fence decorations tomorrow. If we have time, we'll meet with Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg. They have a lot of picnic benches to spare in their shed that we're going to place in the roads. Oh, and I have to get that table from Mrs. Donnahue for the desserts. I need to find one more table like it, as well..."

"Sounds like you got your plate full tomorrow," Jack yawned widely as he began growing sleepy.

"I'm sorry, do I need to take a day with the kids so you can rest?" Rose propped herself up, closing her journal in the same swoop. She reached out towards her exhausted husband, gently brushing some bangs from his forehead, "I need you feeling well on the Fourth, Jack. You're the only person who can cook a burger without charring it like Mr. Harolds does."

"I'll be fine," Jack told her, closing his eyes, "You have things you need to do. Me and the kids will find something to occupy our time. Hopefully something that requires us to be sitting..." Jack yawned again and Rose grinned at his sleepy state. His voice had grown husky, "And besides... if I got a few beers in me on the Fourth, it's like I had never been in the Great War," He grinned, his eyes still closed. Rose couldn't help but chuckle.

She leaned over him and placed a tender kiss on his forehead, "Good night, Jack. Will it bother you if I keep working with my lamp on?"

"Not at all," Jack shook his head as he sunk beneath the quilts, "Keep murmerin' to yourself. It's like a bedtime story that puts me to sleep."

Rose laughed a little louder now and tenderly ran her hands through Jack's hair. After a few moments, his breathing steadied and she knew he had already tumbled into slumber. Rose examined the side of his face that was gently illuminated in the glow of her lamp. She grinned and carressed him once more on his cheek before she returned to making her notes.

Just down the hall, young Charlie Dawson was still wide awake, laying in bed. An internal debate waged on inside of him as he thought about tomorrow. Charlie's eyes gazed out the window at the full moon sailing across the star-speckled sky.

_I don't want to do it... _Charlie shook his head, his unruly hair rustling up against his pillow, _I shouldn't have to do this... I shouldn't be in this stupid mess to begin with. I don't like what it's done to me. Look at me, laying awake, worried, like I have a project due at school and I never even said anything to Mom or Dad... They can't force me to do this, _Charlie bit at his nails absent-mindedly, _If I stay away... there's nothin' they can do to me, right?_

Charlie's eyes looked back to the moon, as if he expected it to hear his thoughts and deliver an answer of wisdom. But only the cicadas answered him in their rhythmic chirping that would carry on throughout the warm still night. Charlie tossed and turned back and forth. Closing his eyes did nothing. His mind wouldn't be quiet. And slowly, he watched the hours slink away and soon enough, the sky was growing pink, and Charlie still hadn't slept a wink nor come to a comforting solution for his problem of the day.


	23. Almost Time

Chapter Twenty-Three

_July 3rd, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Charlie watched the sun rise much to his dismay. He turned away from the window, drawing the curtains shut. Curled up beneath his quilts, his groggy eyes slowly watched his clock tick past five and then six in the morning. Despite the exhaustion that gripped him, Charlie still couldn't find a moment to slip into a gentle slumber and it wasn't long before he heard the movement of his family across the creaky woodboards of the house. Charlie sighed and decided to get up. He was in no mood to have his parents come in, acting chipper as usual. He dressed slowly and brushed through his unruly hair. He paused to stare at himself in his bathroom mirror. He could only hope he didn't look too tired, but he felt tired and his mood was already spoiled for the day.

When Charlie stepped out of his room, he could hear the muffled sound of a jazz record playing on the otherside of Valentina's door. He also heard the water running. She always listened to music while she bathed. Charlie continued down the stairs. As he neared the kitchen, he heard the shuffling and voices of his parents. Charlie had to pause at the base of the stairs to mentally prepare himself. After a moment, he trudged through the door, holding his head low as the morning light stung his eyes. His mother was standing over the oven with a cup of coffee in hand, stirring a bubbling pot. His father was sitting at the island with the latest edition published of his magazine, coffee steaming beside him on the counter.

"Good morning, Charlie!" Rose said, in her typical chipper way. She was very much a morning person, which was bad news for her son. "There's some juice in the ice box. The oatmeal is almost ready. I just added the cinnanmon."

Charlie tried muttering something as he brushed past his parents and went about pouring himself orange juice. Jack thumbed through the glossy magazine pages beside Charlie slowly, the ever-impending feeling of finding a mistake post-production looming over him. Charlie pulled himself up onto the stool next to his father and focused on drinking his juice. He was so tired, he felt like he could hit the floor right there. He was angry his body wouldn't do the same when laying in his bed. Rose reached into the cupboard and pulled a small porcelain bowl down and gingerly filled it with oatmeal.

"Here you go, my love," Rose grinned, serving the bowl to Charlie. She gently combed his hair back from his dark eyebrows. "I have some last minute things to do today for the neighborhood party. Mrs. Maggie is coming over and she'll be bringing her son, Max. You know Max, right?"

"Yeah... he's a grade behind me," Charlie mumbled as he set his spoon into the thick oats.

"I was hoping you two could play today while we worked," Rose told him, returning to the stove to make Jack a bowl. "He loves trains and cars, just like you. Maybe you two could go for a bike ride."

"Mom, do I have to?!" Charlie nearly snapped. He looked to her with the biggest pouty eyes she had ever seen. Rose paused from filling Jack's bowl, furrowing her brow at her son.

"My, my, you're cranky this morning," Rose shook her head. Charlie felt his face heat up when his father glanced towards him. Rose brought Jack's bowl to him and paused, setting her hands on the counter top. "I am asking you nicely to please keep Max company while me and his mother work. A play date will do you well, anyhow," Rose returned to the stove to keep the oatmeal warm while she awaited Valentina's arrival to the kitchen. "I think if you just gave him a chance, you'd really like him. So what he's a year younger than you? You were always a year younger than Ross and Ivan."

Charlie felt his insides sting at the mention of their names. Jack gave him a nudge, "Eat your oatmeal before it gets cold. And listen to your mother, she's speaking some logic. I think Max would be a great friend for you to have. I bet he'd love your train collection."

Sourly, Charlie dug his spoon through his thick oatmeal, spying the sprinkles of cinnanmon sinking beneath the surface. "Yeah, I bet he still swallows the pieces..." Charlie scoffed.

"Charles Jack Dawson," Rose now turned from the stove, putting her hands defiantly on her hips. Jack watched the mama bear inside her come alive, poked one too many times. "He is only fourteen months younger than you. He's not some infant who can't do anything. He rides bikes, he's part of Boy Scouts, he likes all the same things you do. I don't like this attitude, mister, and I want it gone pronto. I expect you to be nice to Max and _only_ nice."

Charlie decided to be quiet. He was only digging himself a hole. He already knew the day was going to be horrible, spent in turmoil, so he told himself not to bother with getting into an argument with his mother before the sun even completely broke over the mountain range. Charlie simply nodded in resignation to his mother and began eating his oatmeal, focusing on staying awake. Not too long later, Valentina strode into the kitchen, her hair left free to airdry from her bath. She seated herself at the island with her father and brother and happily dug into her oatmeal.

"Momma, Oliver and Melody don't have practice today so I was wonderin' if it'd be alright if they came over. _We're _going to play the pieces together," Valentina grinned mischeviously at the idea. Rose fixed herself a bowl and seated herself beside Jack, smiling at her daughter.

"Well, I'm going to be out with Mrs. Maggie in the neighborhood today. Your father's in charge."

"Daddy?" Valentina looked to him and her big brown eyes reflected that of a puppy.

Jack grinned, like he could ever say no to that look. He took a sip of his coffee and nodded, "Sure. It seems like our house is the hot spot today. Charlie, maybe you and Max can also hang out with Valentina and her friends."

"Oh, yes!" Valentina's eyes lit up and she turned on her groggy brother. "That would mean we have enough people to play Music Critic!"

"What's that?" Charlie asked flatly, setting his head in his hand.

"It's where someone plays a classical piece and you have to determine who the composer is and then remember one interesting fact from their life!"

"Sounds boring," Charlie said, putting a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

"No, it's really fun, trust me. It's not all just Bach and Beethoven. There's modern composers, too, y'know," Valentina replied. "We could always play something else. There are plenty of games for five people."

"Tina's right," Rose grinned, "All of you will think of something."

_Oh, boy... _Charlie thought inwardly, watching his spoon sink into his breakfast.

...

The summer sun was directly overhead and Rose felt it beating into the back of her neck as she and Maggie worked on tying flags to fences and draping them around bushes. She tucked a lose strand from her pinned hair back from the frame of her face and admired the newly hung banner. Rose then turned and looked up and down the street they had just finished.

"The flags look amazing, Maggie," Rose grinned, "The neighborhood is starting to look very festive. Imagine tomorrow evening with all the tables of food and drink set out and the smell of the barbeque."

"Oh and the sound of the children laughin' and playin'," Maggie instantly became dreamy. "I love the sizzle of fireworks and the chuckles of children on the Fourth. I dunno, somethin' magical about it."

Rose adjusted the canvas bag of flags she had draped on her shoulder, "I think we're going to pull this off, Maggie. I had my doubts about doing something so large and elaborate, but I really think we're going to do it!"

"Honey, don't you ever doubt a southern belle's ability to get things done," Maggie winked but paused, her eyes staring past Rose. Rose's smile broke and she looked over her shoulder to see Eleanor walking home. Rose had forgotten the office shut down early on Friday. "Hiya, Eleanor," Maggie greeted cooly.

"Hello, you two," Eleanor stopped just a few feet short of them. She took a moment to inspect her surroundings. "Wow, you two have been busy this morning. It's looking great. Is there anything I can help with?"

"Well," Rose glanced into her bag. "We still have two more streets to hang banners on. Would you like to help us?"

"Sure, I'd love to," Eleanor grinned. "Let me just put my purse in my house and change out of my office clothes. It will just take a moment." Eleanor brushed past the women and hurried down to her front door, closing it swiftly behind her. There was a moment of silence between the two women left out on the sidewalk. A bird chirped distantly.

"Notice she doesn't invite us in," Maggie raised her eyebrows with a big smile. "Her house is probably dirty. I mean, look at the yard. I know she doesn't have a man around, but there are other means to get your lawn trimmed."

"Well, she does work full time," Rose shrugged, trying to think the best of Eleanor for Jack's sake. He had insisted nothing seemed off. She trusted those words.

"Oh, Rose, you saint," Maggie clucked, shaking her head. Her golden curls bobbed back and forth with her movement. "Still refuse to have a single bad thought about that woman, huh? It's only a matter of time before she becomes a wart on your marriage."

"Jack wouldn't let that happen," Rose said plainly, her eyes trained towards Eleanor's front door, which was in need of a layer of paint. "Besides, if you think so poorly of her, doesn't the saying go to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?"

"Okay, okay, touché," Maggie nodded, folding her hands in front of her. "She's nice enough, but, honey, I know a snake in the grass when I see one."

"I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt," Rose replied just as Eleanor returned from her house, dressed in a much more comfortable and modest dress with flats to cover a larger walking distance. She smiled, seemingly refreshed, her loose brown curls sitting on her shoulders.

"Alright, I'm ready!" Eleanor called as she approached them. Together the trio set off to the next street. Maggie busied herself with the hedges while Eleanor and Rose pulled a banner to their desired tautness and began winding the kite string around the fence posts. "Has Jack been enjoying his days off?" Eleanor asked as she focused on going around and around the fence post. Maggie glanced fleetingly to Rose from where she stood behind Eleanor.

"Oh, yes, he's managed to get a lot of painting done and has spent a lot of quality time with the kids," Rose nodded, making the final knot in her kite string. Carefully, she removed her hands to test if the knot was tight enough.

"I didn't know Jack painted," Eleanor arched her eyebrows as she also finished her knot. "I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. That man is insanely talented."

Rose reached into her bag and withdrew another banner. Together, the women carried it across the street to the next fence. Maggie was on their heels to decorate the foliage, a big smug grin plastered on her face. "Yes, he is very talented," Rose agreed. "He was a portrait artist before he came to own the magazine. Charged a dime a picture on boardwalks and whatnot."

"He's so modest," Eleanor shook her head. "I wish he would talk more about his art career. It seems like he has a lifetime of stories."

Rose stared intently at the kite string she was winding around the fence. Why was Jack always the topic of choice with Eleanor before Rose steered it towards something else? She glanced to Eleanor, who seemed pleased with being able to have his name in her mouth.

"Yeah," Rose finally said, nearly breathlessly as she finished her half of the banner. "He does..."

...

The Dawson household was alive from noises in all directions. Jack sat in his office, trying to focus on painting, but the sound of instruments and the noise of Charlie and Max shifting tin train toys around continually distracted him. The scraping of furniture could be heard in Charlie's room as the boys shifted everything around to make room for their growing train scene. Charlie and Max had seemed to hit it off and Jack was grateful Charlie had done as his mother had asked and embraced the idea of the play date.

"I got some more train tracks in that box over there," Charlie said, pointing to the one just peaking out from beneath the bed.

"Wow, you got tons of stuff!" Max exclaimed, carefully manuevering through the set-up. His brown hair tossled back and forth as he deftly stepped over the final corner of the train scene. He knelt and scraped the box towards him, amazed to find dozens more tracks tucked away. "I am _so _jealous, Charlie! I don't even got half of what you do!"

Jack grinned as he made a delicate brush stroke to his pine trees. Another mountain scene, inspired by his environment. It would be yet another finished painting to go into the attic for safe-keeping or an emergency gift, because who didn't like art for their house? He heard the trio-orchestra on the other side of the wall come to a stop.

"Tina, I think Mr. Dewhurst is gonna regret not picking you!" Melody's clear voice rang out. "Anita is good, but she doesn't have the spirit you have."

"It was probably for the best," Jack heard Valentina's voice. "I'm probably meant to do other things."

"You can't give up music," Came Oliver's voice. "It's the fabric of our beings, Tina."

"I'm not saying give it up," Tina replied. "Just maybe... focus on other things."

The ever-calculating girl, Jack was familiar to her cues of anxiety. He knew she wanted to be apart of that orchestra and he knew it still bothered her. But she was being graceful, just as her mother had taught her.

"Hey, Dad?" Jack was startled and quickly looked over his shoulder to see Charlie and Max standing in the doorway. They seemed starkly different. Max's hair was trimmed well, he was wearing a vest over a button-up. Getting Charlie to sit still for a decent hair cut was pure torture and he would have rather walked barefoot across coals than wear a second layer of stuffy clothes.

"What's up, bud?" Jack asked, dipping his brush into his murky glass of water.

"Max and I are gonna go ride bikes."

"Alright," Jack glanced towards the clock, "Be back when the sun starts to set. I'm sure that's when both of your mother's will be back." He watched the young energetic boys take off and he heard the door shut just a few moments later. It wasn't long before the orchestra in Tina's bedroom kicked off again.

...

Max and Charlie leisurely rode of the neighborhood. Charlie was feeling a bit more full of energy when he discovered his mother had been right- Max really did love trains as much as he did. He rather enjoyed the boy's company and felt bad for giving his mother a hard time over breakfast that morning. Though Max looked a little dorky, he chalked it up to his mother, Maggie, who he thought had always had a funny accent.

"Wanna go down to the park and skip rocks?" Max asked, "I always find the smoothest ones there."

Charlie bit down on his lip at the mention of the park. And even worse, the exact grounds the Diamond Boys would stroll. Charlie knew it was silly to assume any of those boys hung out there in the day time, when the families were abundant and loud. But Charlie didn't want to risk being seen by any of the boys, especially because of his plan to skip out on them that night. Charlie didn't want to play their games anymore.

"No, maybe we should go to the overpass," Charlie suggested, "I know it's a long trail, but it's definitely worth it. We might get lucky and find some arrowheads."

"That would be cool," Max agreed, "We did that on a camping trip in Boy Scouts once."

The boys steered their bikes north, in the direction of the tallest mountain peaks that surrounded Miles City, "What troop are you in?" Charlie asked, pumping his legs up and down against his pedals.

"3817. You?"

"4811."

"I wish we were in the same troop," Max said. "I don't really like any of my troop members."

Charlie smiled at the comment. It was the first time the entire summer someone actually expressed liking being around Charlie. He was beginning to realize he had been wrong all summer. He was chasing after people, almost begging them to like him, when Max was willing to hang out with him in any setting. Charlie looked over to Max.

"Maybe one day we will be."

"Like... in the Eagle Scouts?"

"If we make it that far," Charlie grinned, "Are you ready for some uphill climbing?"

Max smiled and looked forward, standing up on his bike pedals, "I'll race you to the top!"

"Oh, you're on!" Charlie called as he began to furiously pedal his bike, his absent nights sleep completely evaporating from his mind.


	24. The Fourth of July: Part 1

Chapter Twenty-Four

_July 4th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Charlie had slept as hard as a rock overnight. When the first rays of the morning light pierced through his window, he squinted and propped himself up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes groggily. He had passed out promptly at bed time when his mother had come to tuck him in. Immediately, Charlie shuffled to his knees and cautiously peered out his window into the side lawn. Not a single Diamond Boy was awaiting him. And they hadn't woken him up if they had come searching for him. Charlie was feeling good about that day. He would have an excuse to stay up late and eat lots of sugar. Plus, he was eager to hang out with Max again after how much fun they had had the day before. And he was pleased to not wake up with a plague of regrets, doubt, and hate racking his body when he thought about his parents. Charlie dressed in a dark red button up and chose light brown courdoroy pants, tucking his shirt in and clipping suspenders over his shoulder. He stood on his tip-toes in front of the mirror over the sink, raking his hair back from his eyes. When he finally molded it in a way that pleased him, he made his way downstairs.

It was a beautiful day without a cloud in the sky. That meant the city was going to have an amazing fireworks show. Rose had every window open, the curtains roped back to allow as much sunlight and air into the house. Charlie was feeling wonderful when he entered the kitchen that morning. It seemed like a lifetimes difference between him when he had entered the kitchen yesterday morning. His mother had made cinnanmon rolls and poured glasses of frothy milk. She was just smearing the chilled icing onto the glistening rolls when Charlie came in. His father was sitting at the island beside her, reading the newspaper. When Rose spotted Charlie, she double-took and paused from her task, straightening up. She set her bowl of icing down and cooed gently.

"Charlie, oh my goodness," Rose set her spatula down and came around the island, reaching her hands out to rest on the shoulders of her son. "You look great! I love this shirt," Rose said as she tugged at the collar and smoothed any wrinkles out around his suspenders. "You look just like your father."

"Really?" Charlie arched his eyebrows.

"Exactly," Rose assured him. "I swear you just popped out of a photograph taken twenty years ago."

Charlie smiled at this and brushed past his mother, towards the table. It was the second morning in a row he had beaten Valentina down by meer minutes to the breakfast table. As he walked by his dad, the man reached out, wrapping his arm around Charlie's chest and drawing the boy in. Gingerly, Jack ran his hand through his son's hair. Charlie looked up expectantly at his father, waiting for the moment he was going to start to speak. But he did not. Instead, only a large grin plastered Jack's face and he kept his arm locked around Charlie. After a few moments, he lowered his lips, kissing Charlie on the head through his messy hair.

"You look good, bud," Jack grinned, releasing Charlie now, who continued to the table. When Charlie saw the glass of milk on the table, he nearly swallowed half of it in one swing of his wrist. But he restrained himself, knowing it was a treat, and would be a hard fought battle against his mother to have her agree to a second cup. A third cup? Completely out of the question.

Rose whipped her spatula around the bowl of icing, tenderly plopping more down onto a cinnanmon roll. "Everyone is going to think you're the absolute _cutest_. All those neighborhood girls your age are going to realize what a darling you are! You'll be fending yourself off with a stick!"

"I hope not," Charlie kicked his legs back and forth in his chair. Jack smiled and turned around in his stool to face Charlie, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, you're not interested in girls?" Jack asked.

"The girls I know are snooty and dainty," Charlie scrunched his nose up. "They're always wearin' their favorite dresses, so they can't play baseball with us or anything! They're so fragile and always talkin' about stuff they think they know about. They're annoying, actually."

Jack couldn't help but laugh out loud. Rose herself was smirking as she continued to smear icing on to the breakfast. Finally, something that was different about Charlie. When Jack had been Charlie's age, he had already began to notice girls and take an interest in them. He was fifteen years old when he had finally been into bed with a woman. But Charlie's life was just different enough, it gave him a different view on the situation. He was able to hold onto his youthful spirit for just a bit longer than Jack had been allowed. Before Jack had started getting into serious trouble. In a way, it was a relief to Jack, who had found himself falling into deep trains of thoughts over his children as of late. He wasn't a parent who understood everything or knew what to do and he spent hours a day carefully analyzing each of the children in hopes of understanding what to expect. Being a father was growing unpredictable as his children reached double digits in age. Things were becoming more complex; socially, spirtually, family-wise.

"That's alright," Jack finally said once his laughing subsided. "I'm sure you won't be bothered until you see The One."

"'The One'?" Charlie echoed, pausing from swinging his legs.

"Yeah, you know, The One," Jack nodded. "One day, Charlie, you're goin' to be minding your own business, when suddenly, you feel a pair of eyes on the side of your face." Rose looked to the back of Jack's head as he spoke with their son. She smiled gently. A moment later, fresh from the tub, Valentina entered the kitchen, her mary-jane's clacking across the tile.

"Tina, good timing," Jack grinned, "I was just telling Charlie about The One."

"'The One'?" Valentina furrowed her brow.

"I got time before the cinnanmon rolls are done. Sit down," Jack instructed. Rose's smile was still on her face as she continued with breakfast. "Now, when you feel this pair of eyes on you, you'll probably want to get annoyed at first. I mean, a stranger's staring at you. Do you like to be stared at?"

"Gosh, no," Valentina shook her head, her french braids beating against her neck.

"Right. So, when you go to look back, suddenly, you're not going to feel annoyed. You're not going to feel anything bad. It will only be good feelings."

"How come?" Charlie asked, placing his elbows on the table. It was amazing to Rose, how easy Jack's charismatic nature enraptured the children. When they had taken many train rides to New York City for her writing career, Jack had been the master of soothing and occupying Valentina and Charlie as toddlers and babies on the painstakingly long train ride across the country.

"There's going to be something about their eyes. Something that you can't quite put your finger on, but that you can feel in ways unimaginably. You could feel warm or safe or reassured or wanted... it's an endless possibility of what you will feel when you look at them. It's special to each individual," Jack grinned, looking between his children.

"What did you feel, Daddy?" Valentina smiled, folding her hands together.

Jack laughed. Rose felt her heart leap in her chest and distantly, the Atlantic Ocean washed through her ears. She glanced fleetingly to his broad shoulders as she finished the last of the icing. She began splitting the cinnanmon rolls up onto plates.

"Well, that's the funny thing about this whole situation," Jack shrugged, almost sheepishly, and leaned forward. "Sometimes you're the one who gets stared at and baited into looking. Sometimes, you get lucky, and you're the person who stares. You get to see them first. I was the person who stared at your mother."

"Yeah, at a fancy first class dinner on the _Titanic_," Valentina looked so dreamy as she recalled the nice fake story Jack and Rose had come up with for the children. "Asking Momma to dance that night was a great decision, Daddy."

"Yeah..." Jack watched as Rose served the children their plates. She gingerly squeezed Valentina's shoulder and looked over her shoulder at Jack. Her short curls were falling all around the frame of her face. Her porcelain skin was clear and glowed in the bright morning light breaking over the mountains. He felt his heart pound loudly in his chest. Even after an entire decade, every day with Rose was new and exciting. He thought back on the true story of what had happened that night. "Reaching for your mother's hand was the best thing I ever did, Tina."

...

The neighborhood was alive with energy as the day slowly waned into a late afternoon. Lunch had been taken care of and now people were happily dragging their tables outside and preparing to fix their agreed upon snacks for the night. Some neighbors had small poppers and sparklers sitting out on their tables as they anticipated the approaching evening. Jack and Rose walked slowly, side by side, looking around at the brightly decorated street.

"Well, you did it," Jack smiled, wrapping his arm around Rose's waist while they walked. He gave a short wave with his cane to Mrs. Scully, who was spreading a gingham cloth over her picnic table. "The neighborhood is vibrant, everyone is setting up. You've gotten everyone excited. Job well done."

Rose sighed contently. "I'm so happy it's all going to be over. This was so much. I really appreciate you taking time off from work to help with this." Slowly, the Dawson couple came to a stop on the sidewalk, beneath the shade of a sweet-smelling honeysuckle tree. Rose reached out, grabbing hold of Jack's suspenders gingerly.

"If I never had to go back to work, I wouldn't," Jack told her as his fingers skimmed up and down her arm. "You know what my biggest wish in the world is?"

"What's that?" Rose asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

"For you and me to climb into bed and never have to get out for anything."

Rose let out a laugh, falling against Jack. "Sorry, but our children would starve." She lifted her head, her curls brushing against Jack's stubbly chin. "You're lucky the children had never read my column about The One. They would have called you out for plagarism right there."

"I had a hunch that just maybe neither of them picked up a newspaper," He winked teasingly, giving her arm a squeeze. "You know, I always forget..." He reached his calloused hand up and glided over her cheek tenderly. She could feel herself gravitating closer to him, the world around her completely unimportant. "What _did _you feel when we made eye contact that day on the deck?"

Rose felt a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth as she relished in the feeling of being beneath his touch. No matter the time that had passed, Jack was still able to alight a flame in her that made her feel light as a feather but as powerful as a tsnunami. She stared into his blue eyes and she swore for the slightest moment, she could the smell the salty air and hear the squawk of seagulls above.

"I felt safe," She said lightly as a gentle gust of warm air blew a lock of hair across her face. Gingerly, she tucked it behind her ear. "You looked at me and it didn't feel wrong. I was not scared of you."

"I was a little scared," Jack told her, his smile never faltering.

"Why?" Rose's eyebrows knitted together.

"Because I thought I was never going to see you again."

Rose smiled now, her face relaxing. She took hold of Jack's hand and tenderly kissed his fingertips before leaning towards him to claim his lips. From just across the street, Eleanor stood, frozen in place. What had started as a curious walk around the neighborhood to see what everyone was doing, turned into her finding a jealous rage bursting inside her being. She watched Jack tenderly touch Rose. Her body ached deeply in that moment. And not too far behind Eleanor down the street stood Maggie, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched with apprenhension as Eleanor longingly gazed at Jack.

...

Jack was getting a table set up outside the gated area of their house. Rose was doing last minute flags on the porch, expecting several women to come join her in her comfy wicker furniture on the front porch. Charlie was sitting in the yard, impatiently awaiting his friend's arrival. Valentina, Melody, and Oliver had already taken off to find entertainment as the sky began to slowly turn sherbert after a beautiful summer day full of promise.

Jack set a rock on the corner of the table to prevent the wind from picking up the table cloth before he began placing the platter of brownies and chewy chocolate chip cookies that Rose had spent yesterday evening making. As he worked, he suddenly heard the creak of metal, and the grinding of gears. Jack looked over his shoulder to see young Max, with wind blown hair, pushing his bike towards their yard.

"Max, are you alright?" Jack asked, tearing away from the table to meet up with the young boy. His white shirt was dirty and ruffled.

"Yes, I'm fine," Max told him, looking up meekly from his bike. "I took the curve over by the post office like I normally do, but someone left a rock in the road and I didn't see it until it was too late..."

Charlie wheeled Max's bike into their yard while Jack had the young boy sit down on their porch steps. Rose emerged from the house with a damp handcloth and a bandaid, seating herself beside Max and dabbing at his scraped knees and palms.

"Goodness, Max, you took quite the fall," Rose commented as she gingerly held his small hand and rubbed at the dirty cuts. The young boy cringed and clenched each time she applied pressure to his wounds. Jack grabbed hold of Max's bike and inspected it. The forks were slightly bent, his front tire was ruined, and the chain was dangling off the back.

"I can fix one of these things," Jack leaned the bike up against the fence and gingerly tucked the chain back onto the gears. He then gave the forks a tug and was pleased to see them still moldable. He grinned and reached into his pocket, holding a five dollar bill out towards his son. "Go to the bike store and ask for a new front tire. Hurry, before he closes down. If you and Max wanna ride bikes, I suggest you start pedalin' now."

Charlie didn't let a moment go to waste. "I'll be back, Max!" Charlie told him as he clambered onto his bike. Max watched as his blond friend sharply turned out of the front yard and pumped his legs back and forth, disappearing. Jack looked to the bike and turned towards the young boy who watched as Rose carefully laid bandaids across his boo-boos.

"We'll get you all fixed up, Max," Jack assured the young boy. "Fourth of July isn't lost, yet."

"Thank you, Mr. Dawson," Max grinned.

Jack paused at the gate and turned towards Max, "Just call me Jack."

Rose grinned at his personable attitude as she finished patching Max up. She gave him a tender pat on the shoulder, "Alright, all done. Take those bandaids off before your next bath so you can really get into those cuts and clean them, alright? Come inside with me. I'm sure Charlie has a shirt you can wear." Rose gestured for Max to follow her inside while Jack returned to the table to continue with rearranging all the sweets the Dawson household wanted to share. After a few moments of working, he suddenly went blind as someone slid their hands over his eyes.

"Guess who!"

"I'm gonna have to guess my secretary," Jack said, trying not to sound unamused. She had grown quite fond of him in the past two weeks and Jack was beginning to worry he had asauged Rose's very genuine concerns about Eleanor's wrong intentions. Still, he wanted to believe the best in Eleanor. Besides, she had to be very aware of where Jack's heart was.

"Wow, we have a winner!" Eleanor cheered, coming to stand beside him. She was wearing a hot red dress with black hem lacing. It was in theme, but very risque. Eleanor could easily be told apart by the other mother's by a mile away wearing a flamboyant almost cocktail party dress to a family neighborhood block party. "How're you doing? Did you have a nice week off?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded, lowering his eyes back to his task. No matter what he was doing, he did his best to put his artistic flare into it. Gingerly, he rotated the silver tray that contained several blueberry muffins. "I wish I could take more time off, but I know we have a lot of meetings next week."

"Well, we definitely missed you at the office!" Eleanor folded her hands behind her back, doing her best to push her bossom forward. "I can't wait to see you back in your office. Besides, you explain things so much better than Williamson."

Jack smirked as he recalled his right hand man who had worked for Wally back in the day. Jack again focused on rearranging the baked goods. "He's just thorough and I appreciate it."

"I really enjoy when it's you telling me what needs to be done," Eleanor grinned politely, tilting back and forth like a nervous school girl. "You're so passionate about what you do, Jack."

Jack wracked his brain as, on the fly, he attempted to think of how to reply to Eleanor. He knew it would be rude to simply allow the conversation to falter over his silence but he sincerely was not sure what to speak with her about. Eleanor was a nice enough girl, but he was under more of the impression he was _employing _her, not _friending _her, per se. Thankfully, and luckily, Maggie's southern accent rang out.

"Jack! Yoo-hoo, Jack!" She called, waving her hand. Maggie was wearing a blue and white striped dress with white tulle sleeves. Her curly and wavy blonde hair was allowed free and she wore a blue paisley bandana around the top of her head, a refreshing difference from her usual collection of sun hats. Balancing on her hip was young William, wearing a navy blue romper with a white undershirt. His big curious eyes looked all around him as the neighborhood was bathed in the orange golden light of the sunset. "Jack, have you seen Max? Mr. Arnolds has his camera out and I wanted a picture of the boys together before it got too dark. Oh, I hope he's not too sweaty yet."

"He fell off his bike," Jack told her, looking up from his arrangement. "Rose has him inside and she's cleaning him up right now."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Maggie sighed, moving William to her other hip. "Of all nights, Maximus!"

Jack grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's alright. Charlie should have something that's not too big on Max."

Just then, the front door of the Dawson house opened and Max and Rose stepped out. Max was now wearing a blue short-sleeve button up. Jack recognized it as the shirt Charlie had worn to a friend's wedding in northern Montana just a year ago. It was amazing to him, in that moment, to realize just how much Charlie had really grown. In his hand was a popsicle as well. Rose was smiling down at little Max as they came out onto the porch. Jack couldn't help but grin even wider. It didn't matter the child, Rose treated all of them as if they were her own.

"Max, keep that popsicle away from that shirt!" Maggie passed William to Jack without a second thought. Jack was caught off-guard but took William into his arms, turning as Maggie brushed past him and went to meet her son in the yard. Jack looked to baby William in his arms. It had been a very long time since he had held a baby. "Goodness, look how much damage you did to your bike!" Maggie exclaimed, pressing a palm to her forehead exasperatedly.

"I hit a rock," Max told her.

"I sent Charlie to the bike store to get him a new tire," Jack said, bobbing William up and down.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay," Maggie said, gently combing his wind-blown hair back from his face. "I want a picture of you and William. You can come back by for Charlie in a bit. I need you to come now, before we lose daylight," Maggie grabbed hold of Max's free hand, leading him towards the street. "Thanks for holdin' William for me." Maggie wrapped her arm around Max's shoulders as William held onto her dress on the neckline. "Thank you for the shirt, Rose."

"It's all his," Rose assured her. "Charlie's too big for it now."

"Did you say thank you?" Maggie leaned down, squeezing Max's shoulder. Max was too busy with his treat. Maggie melodramatically rolled her eyes and looked back towards Rose. "After I get this picture done, I'll be back with a gaggle of women in tow for a glass of wine!"

"Oh, yes, that sounds wonderful," Rose grinned. "I finally get to break my new wicker furniture in! I'll get a bottle into a bucket of ice."

Maggie smiled and then looked to Jack. When her eyes went over Eleanor, she didn't smile nor did she scowl. She simply lingered on Eleanor for a moment with a face of stone before she lead Max off to have his picture taken despite his lips being stained bright red from his popsicle.

"Well, if it's wine time, then I'm gonna take a lap around the neighborhood," Jack told Rose. "I'd like to set eyes on Valentina, anyway. I'll see you later." Jack leaned over the fence and gave Rose a peck on the cheek.

"I bet you're here for a much needed glass of wine, aren't you?" Rose smiled at Eleanor.

"Actually, I'm not much of a wine drinker," Eleanor told her. "I think I'll take a lap with Jack. I'll see you later, Rose!" Hurriedly, the mother zipped to Jack's side who seemed surprised to see her. Rose watched from beside the fence, which she gripped tightly. Her eyes followed Eleanor closely. Each giddy movement she made, Rose took note of it. She watched the duo disappear into the thickening crowd as the neighborhood came more alive with energy as slowly, the sun sank away. Rose stared at where they had once been for a moment more before she pursed her lips and turned on her heels, heading inside to ready a bottle of wine before the first mom's of the neighborhood trickled in.

...

Charlie was unsucessful at obtaining a bike tire for Max. The bike store was already long closed by the time he had made it and he had received chuckles from general store clerks when Charlie had feverishly and eagerly asked them for a spare bike tire. Charlie, however, had been given two small iron poles to make pegs on the back of his bike so he could carry Max with him around the neighborhood. Charlie decided that would have to do for the evening.

Miles City was vibrant with energy as everyone made their way to their destination of choice. The sounds of small fireworks, poppers, and sparklers were already making their way across the small town that was eager for the fireworks amongst the mountains to begin. As Charlie continued towards his neighborhood, the crowds began to thin. He pedaled leisurely, wondering what kind of sugary treats he and Max would find that evening. The young boy grinned to himself when he realized how easy it would be to consume more sugar than his parent's would know about.

Charlie's thoughts were cut short, however, when a backpack slid across the path in front of his bike. Poor Charlie was not fast enough to pull his brakes and his path intersected with the backpack. The sudden jerking of the bike sent Charlie over the handle bars and he tumbled across the brick. A pain flared up in the elbow of his left arm and he felt warm blood already tricking down his forehead from where his head had bounced off the brick. Charlie let out a whimper as he sat up and he held his pained arm in close to himself. When he looked up, he paled, when he saw the Diamond Boys standing around him. Lawrence grinned nastily, a cigarette dangling from his chapped lips.

"Did you forget something yesterday evening?" Lawrence asked, smiling all the while.


	25. The Fourth of July: Part 2

**Warning: Language.**

Chapter Twenty-Five

_July 4th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The sound of the cork being freed from the wine bottle was music to the women's ears. Gathered in Rose's new wicker furniture on her front porch was Maggie with William in her lap, Betty, Susie, and Bella. It was a good group of women, albeit quiet chatty and full of gossip, but in that moment, Rose needed that outlet as much as she needed the wine going down her throat. Rose calmly and quietly went around the circle women, carefully filling their diamond wine glasses with a dry red wine that was rich and dark in color. Maggie's smile became wide when Rose finally made it to her glass. Playfully, her blue eyes gazed at Rose over the wine glass.

"I bet you've got lots to tell us," Maggie arched her eyebrows.

Rose paused, clenching the wine bottle tightly in her hand. Rose finally sighed and filled her glass up, glancing around at the women, whose curiosity had been irked. She seated herself and took her time smoothing her skirt over her crossed legs, flicking imaginary lint from the fabric. Rose had been around people who gossiped all her life. To her, it had become a very natural thing of day-to-day life. But Rose herself had never been a contributor to the gossip. She had very strictly not allowed herself to easily give information away. Part of her enjoyed the mystery with their friendships as she would not share the secrets of her sex life, what she and Jack argued about, her fantasies, and the ridiculous nature of children. For Rose, she enjoyed the notion of being selective with what information passed from her parted lips.

In that moment, however, she was frustrated. She nervously tapped her finger against the stem of her wine glass, her wedding ring clanking out. Rose's eyes carefully looked between each woman's face, who was patient, but obviously excited. Beyond the women, a group of children made off with sweets from Rose's small assembled table. She could hear music and chatter, laughter, bicycle bells, car horns, and fireworks popping across the neighborhood.

"Does anyone..." Rose started hesitantly, "... know Eleanor Greene?"

"She is my next door neighbor," The older woman named Susie said. She had short ashen hair that bobbed at her jaw line. She wore an old fashion green dress that was large in volume with an outdated petticoat that had many women recalling hot stuffy days on Easter and Christmas spent suffocated beneath the layers and layers that were normal to Susie.

"What's your experience with her, Susie?" Rose asked, leaning forward and resting her wine glass against her knee. "Do you like her?"

"Nice enough woman but her son," Susie's eyes darted around the circle and Rose knew what she had done. She had given the gossip mill tinder to work with. "Her son is a lunatic. Unpleasant young man, that's for sure," Susie shook her head and took a curt sip of wine. "That boy kicks my mailbox over whenever he can. He even did it when his own mother worked for the post office! And he threw eggs at the statues in my backyard, I know he did."

"How do you know it was Ivan?" Rose asked, already feeling bad. She drank wine to offset this.

"Call me crazy, but I don't think the eighty-nine year old widow living on the other side of me threw eggs at a statue of Jesus Christ," Susie arched her eyebrows, her wine glass hovering just in front of her lips. "Eleanor has no control over her child. She never has. She needs a good man to whip that boy into shape, y'know?"

"Eleanor needs a man so she'll stop flirtin' with ours," Maggie sat forward. "That's what Rose was gettin' at."

"Maggie!" Rose exclaimed.

"Oh, hoo-hoo," Bella whistled, pouring herself another glass of wine. "Rose, do you suspect Eleanor has some candy eyes for your husband?"

Rose sighed and closed her eyes. She wished she had never said anything. "Unfortunately..." Rose took a curt breath and whirled her wine around in her hands. "I suspect she may have a bit more heart for my husband than what's normal... or expected."

"But Jack is so naive," Maggie shook her head, her curls brushing against the top of William's head.

"Maggie, you're not helping," Rose sighed heavily, slouching her shoulders.

"No, no," Maggie wagged her finger and took a drink of her wine. "I'm just lookin' out for you, like I do with all the ladies 'round her. I would trust at least _one _of you would come to me if you suspected my husband was foolin' around on me. Am I right, ladies?"

"Of course," Betty raised her glass. "The women of Miles City will not be as foolish as the floozies living on Easy Street in New York."

"Here, here," Susie agreed whole-heartedly, taking a healthy gulp of wine from her glass. "Us women must stick together. We are the very fabric of this town itself."

"Rose, are you worried about Jack?" Bella asked, tossing her jet black hair back from her face. "Do you think he's going to reach for a slice of cheese?"

The image of a mouse getting snapped in a trap flashed across Rose's mind but she ushered it out just as quick. It wasn't right to compare Jack to a mouse. And Rose was realizing it wasn't fair to call Eleanor bait for a trap. Rose pursed her lips and shook her head. "No. I don't. I trust him completely. It just... drives me crazy she would still act the way she does. It shouldn't bother me so much... but for some reason..." Rose looked around the circle and sheepishly shrugged. "This time it struck a nerve."

"Oh, honey, messin' with the patriarch of the family," Maggie shook her head. "That's like pokin' a bear right before spring time."

Rose sighed and drank the rest of her wine, immediately pouring herself another glass. Her eyes scanned out towards the street, watching the several heads bob past as they made their way around the neighborhood for conversations, games, and foods of all kind. Her eyes snapped backward when a flash of yellow caught his attention and, sure enough, Jack came into view. The lanky man, though not too tall, was just high enough up to distinguish him from the crowd. Beside him, Eleanor walked.

"There they are," Rose said. The women all carefully peaked over their shoulders.

Jack entered the fence and Eleanor wasn't too far off his heels. He glanced around the yard and came onto the porch, leaning against his cane. "Sorry to interrupt, ladies," He smiled politely. "Rose, did you see Charlie come back yet?"

"No," Rose shook her head and looked at Maggie, "Where's Max?"

"I assumed he had found Charlie," Maggie said. She looked around for a moment. "He must be with Arthur down the street, still." Maggie set her wine glass down and passed William to Susie, making her way to the edge of the porch. "Yup, he's right there, blue shirt. He's petting that dog."

"Well, if Max is there, that must mean Charlie hasn't come back from the store yet," Rose said.

"It's just down the road," Jack protested. "And the sun is nearly set at this point. Charlie should have been back nearly half an hour ago."

"Let me go inside and grab the women another bottle of wine," Rose said. "Then I'll help you start looking for Charlie. Maggie, come with me. You'll be in charge while I'm gone." The two women entered her house and made a bee-line into the kitchen while Jack and Eleanor left through the fence again. "Goodness, knowing Charlie he probably got distracted by something. I hope Max doesn't think Charlie stood him up."

"Don't worry about it," Maggie waved her hand dismissively, crossing her arms over her chest. "Looks like Arthur's keepin' him plenty busy. I doubt he's even realized how much time has passed." Rose reached into the ice box and set a bottle of chardonnay on the island. "I hope we find Charlie, at least. Lots of hooligans on the Fourth."

"Really?" Rose asked, furrowing her brow and holding the chilly wine bottle close.

"Well, at least in my home town," Maggie shrugged. "Young boys are like werewolves beneath the full moon, I swear."

"I should get a move on, then," Rose said, growing worried in the pit of her stomach. "Hopefully Jack's gotten ahead of me so I can follow up behind. I'm sure he's somewhere around here." Her voice was beginning to sound like she was convincing herself. She held the bottle of wine out towards Maggie. "Like I said... he's gets distracted," Rose insisted. "He must have run into something and forgotten to check back in."

Maggie grinned weakly. "I bet you're right, Rose."

The women were about to head back out onto the front porch when the phone let out the wail of its brassy call. Rose paused from where she was holding the front door open for Maggie. It's very rare anyone called. She and Jack mostly only had the phone for professional reasons, but she couldn't imagine any sensible business man wasting time dialing phone numbers on a holiday. Maggie went on to the front porch while Rose traveled back to the living room, reaching for the phone.

"This is Rose Dawson," She said into the receiver.

"Mrs. Dawson, oh, thank God I was able to reach you! Magnificent luck, indeed." Came the voice of a man she did not recognize.

"I'm sorry, who is this?" Rose asked, cocking her head to the side. Distantly, a firework sounded and she lifted her head, startled.

"Yes, ma'am, my name is Albertson. Richard Albertson. I am a butler at the Fischer estate."

The Fischer estate was that of Ruth's new husband, a Mr. Nathaniel Fischer, who owned several laundromats across the country and was wealthy without needing to lift a finger again for the rest of his life. Ruth and Nathaniel had married amidst the middle of the Great War and, to this day, Ruth still held Rose's absence from the ceremony against her. He was a larger man with blubber for a neck. He could always be found with a cigar in mouth and a wad of cash bulging from his suede vest. Rose had never liked him. He was never very personable. And he hadn't the faintest interest in Rose's children.

Rose slouched her shoulders, "I am guessing my mother is sending her regards?"

"No, ma'am..." Albertson stuttered for a moment. "Mrs. Fischer's health has been declining naturally for quite some time. Common things for a woman of her age, you see... Sniffles, aches, vertigo, and loss of appetite, just to name a few, Mrs. Dawson. Mr. Fischer has left by ocean liner with his mistress to Europe and I feel it would be a terrible dishonor for Mrs. Fischer's inevitable demise to be surrounded by those of household help and strangers. I feel the best thing would be for you, her daughter, to be here. One last comfort before she is called home."

Rose felt a coolness trickling through her body. "My... my mother has been ill... _dying_ for the past year and no one thought to call me?!"

"Mrs. Fischer was insistent on not calling you. She is not aware of this phone call, either."

Rose was flabbergasted Ruth would order such a thing. Though they had never seen eye to eye and still, to that day, had their major indifferences, Rose couldn't help but feel hurt her mother would purposefully not include her in something as large as her _death. _Rose pursed her lips, gazing out the window to watch a glare of a firework explode overhead and fade away.

"How bad is she...?" Rose asked breathlessly. Her entire body felt relatively woosy.

"Not well..." The butler told her. "She is not well and very far gone... I'm worried I waited much too long to call you, but Mr. Fischer only departed for England this morning."

Rose gripped the phone tightly and closed her eyes. She felt a swirl of emotions banging around inside of her but she was uncertain what it was she felt. "I'll take a train first thing in the morning."

...

"Did you forget something yesterday evening?" Lawrence asked with a grin. Slowly, he removed his cigarette from his lips, tapping the ash off. It flittered to the ground right in front of Charlie, who writhed in pain, holding his arm against his chest. "Hey! Are you listening?" Lawrence barked.

"I think my arm is broken...!" Charlie yelped, looking up at the boys.

"Look at him! He's crying!" Ivan bust out laughing, pointing at Charlie.

"Shut up, no one gives a shit about your arm," Lawrence leaned down and yanked Charlie to his feet despite his protests. Loosely, his arm dangled at his side. It was obvious to the boys in that moment that Charlie's arm actually was broken. But nobody cared enough to do anything. "Where the hell were you, Charlie? We had a deal."

"I know what I'm doing," Charlie said, his cheeks growing rosy as his pain levels kept rising. "My mom and dad were getting suspicious. It doesn't do you guys any good for me to get in trouble."

Lawrence burst on into a laugh, letting his quarter of a cigarette to tumble to the terra-cotta brick that was stained in Charlie's blood from his head wound that still dribbled down the left side of his head, coating his shirt and pants. Charlie breathed heavily, his nostrils flared. Every part of his body was numb but lit up in pain. He did everything he could to hold steady, continually clencing his jaw to conceal his sobs.

"God, Charlie, you act like you're _so _important to us," Lawrence scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You act like you're the only kid we got stealin' shit for us! Well, you're not. And you're replaceable, anyway."

"Then why do you gotta come down so hard on me when I can't help you?" Charlie asked, furrowing her brow. He ran his tongue over his lips, realizing his bottom one was busted and sticky with blood. "Why can't one of your other people take care of it?"

Lawrence glared at Charlie and a moment later, his arm snapped out, shoving Charlie harshly in his right shoulder. Charlie staggered, caught off-guard, but fell against Ivan, who held him at his shoulders, even his bad one. Charlie's entire body was electrified with pain and he ground his teeth back and forth in protest. "You seem to have a real problem with authority. Don't make us have to teach you about how to listen to those wiser than you."

Charlie said nothing and instead focused on taking deep breaths to off set the shocking waves of pain piercing through his body. If Ivan wasn't there, Charlie wondered how long his legs could keep him up. His head and his arm throbbed horrendously.

"What will you do to compensate us, Charlie. I'm guessin' you don't have what we require."

Charlie lowered his eyes, taking an uneven breath as he was washed over with nausea for the slightest moment before it evolved to another level of pain. Charlie gripped tenderly at his arm. Every touch caused his head to throb. "I don't have any alcohol... or cigarettes..." Charlie whispered.

"Well, here's what we're gonna do," Lawrence paused, sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He arched his eyebrows at Charlie. "It's your lucky day, friend. We're gonna let you off easy, alright? I'm gonna take your bike. You're gonna take a few punches from Ivan and Ross. And we're going to be done for now until we come to you again. For whatever miscellaneous stuff we want."

"No," Charlie croaked, tears now springing to his eyes. "Please, just leave me alone."

"Oh, no," Lawrence clucked, shaking his head. "Not an option because then, you know who we would have to talk to, don't you, Charlie?"

"But I didn't do it!" Charlie replied, his bangs getting plastered to his wet and sticky forehead.

"How do they know?" Lawrence shrugged. He turned to look at Charlie's bike and the young boy let out a sigh upon realizing he really was going to lose his bike that evening. Out of the blue, however, Lawrence turned around, punching Charlie directly in the gut, knocking all the wind out of him. Lawrence let out a laugh as Charlie wheezed for air. "Stay alert. We'll be watchin' you." Lawrence yanked Charlie's bike up right and threw his leg over it. He nodded to Ivan and Ross. "Don't knock him out. Make him walk it out." Lawrence ordered before he turned the bike around and pedaled away furiously.

Ivan whirled Charlie around and threw his back into the nearby building. A shock of pain ripled through his shoulder and down his broken arm when his back met the surprisingly cool brick of the wall. Charlie looked between Ross and Ivan. His face was already dirty and crusted with dark blood and plagued in a thin layer of sweat. He had a small gash at his hairline, he had a slit of split skin through one of his eyebrows, and his lip was busted. With his broken arm and sore stomach from Lawrence's fist, Charlie wasn't sure how much more he could take. He was frightened to death in that moment. Ivan cracked his knuckles and smiled, trying to match the intensity in which Lawrence grinned.

"Ivan..." Ross said, glancing over his shoulder. "We should just let him go."

"What?!" Ivan looked to Ross, absolutely perplexed. Charlie focused on breathing to even his pain level as he leaned against the wall for support. "You're gonna pass up a perfectly good opportunity to wail on Charlie?!"

"Look at him!" Ross threw his palms out towards Charlie and the young boy flinched. "Lawrence did him really dirty throwing that backpack in front of his bicycle. He needs a doctor!"

"So?"

"_So?!"_ Ross exclaimed. He turned his eyes on Charlie. "Get out of here. Find your parents."

"Whoa, whoa," Ivan charged forward, pressing Charlie back into the wall. "I didn't say you could go anywhere."

Ross gave him a shove and abruptly, Ivan released Charlie. Slowly, the injured boy began inching himself down the wall, away from Ivan, who had now turned on Ross and the boys began exchanging hurtful words.

"Why do you think you gotta be as bad as Lawrence?!" Ross exploded. "No one's askin' you to be Lawrence!"

"I think all of you are just jealous that Lawrence trusts me the most!" Ivan shot back.

Charlie's right ankle throbbed in pain and that's when he realized it was quiet swollen in his boot. Hurriedly, Charlie disappeared behind the nearby hedges. His movements were slow and carefully, he weaved through the foliage without making so much as a sound. Charlie staggered out from the foliage and onto the empty streets. The sky was now dark and he heard the parties of people from all direction. Charlie held his arm, walking as fast as he could on his swollen ankle. Tears now freely fell from his eyes. Above Charlie, the first of the fireworks were exploding as night time completely over took the daylight. He sniffled and allowed himself to cry outloud as it was masked by the pops of the fireworks. He hobbled down the street, meekly, deflated like a balloon on the county fair ground.

...

Eleanor could tell Jack was deeply worried about Charlie when he set off towards the street again without hesitating after speaking to Rose. And Eleanor grew worried about Ivan's possible whereabouts. Eleanor wrangled her hands anxiously and cleared her throat as Jack stepped off the curb and began contemplating which direction he wanted to go.

"Why don't I just go sweep the neighborhood once more?" Eleanor suggested, clasping her hands together. "You check the main road, where he would have come from."

"Alright..." Jack nodded, obviously distracted.

Eleanor reached out, tenderly grasping his arm. She needed in that moment to touch him, to assure him, while at the same time trying to feel less guilty for being a terrible mother. "It will be alright, Jack. We're going to find him."

"I'll head west on this road," Jack told her, not even phased by her touch. Swiftly, he walked from her reach and left the neighborhood. Eleanor wrung her hands again before she turned towards the crowds shifting through the neighborhood beneath the intermittent explosions of the fireworks that would continue for the next three hours until the finale.

Jack walked without paying any attention to the pain his knee. He pushed himself, walking faster than he had in the past four years. His nostrils were flared and his eyes concentrated directly in front of him. He was blind to every thing else occuring around him. All he could think about was the fact his son had not returned from what should have been a short errand. He wasn't quite sure what to think, but he only felt dread at the ideas he had. The main street was surprisingly vacant. Miles City's restaraunt, bar, and patio business had exploded since the Great War, along with population. The dwellers of the sleepy mountain town had real places to go now during events like these.

Overhead, another explosion rang out, tinting the environment in a bright lemony glare for the faintest moment. His nerves in that moment matched the night of April 14th ten years ago. The dread of watching push, shove, and act generally uncivilized had unnerved him greatly and the sight of lifeboat numbers dwindling set him on edge. Now, he faced the same fears he had neglected to confront from ten years ago. Jack had realized he had walked quite a distance from the neighborhood. He stopped in the middle of the wide and long desserted road. His shoulders rose and fell with each labored breath he took. Jack's head looked back and forth, whipping his hair about his head.

"Charlie!" Jack called. He listened to his voice echo between the buildings. "Charlie!" Jack yelled louder this time. Just then, the squeal of a firework went off and Jack's next cry for his son was muffled by the explosion overhead. Jack's arms hung loosely at his side and he looked all around him for a sign of Charlie. Jack ran his hand over his face. He felt like crying. Nothing unnerved him more than not being able to find his children. Another explosion from a firework went off overhead and Jack lowered his hand from his eyes as the light faded away. His breathing hitched in his throat when he saw a small figure coming around the bend on the main road.

Jack took off in a jog, uncaring of the shooting pain his leg. "Charlie!" Jack bellowed, his heart beating ferociously in his chest. Another explosion rang out and the fireworks illuminated Charlie for the slightest moment. Jack carelessly dropped his cane, letting it clatter to the ground. He surged forward, falling to his knees in front of Charlie. The state of his son was terrifying, coated in blood, full of nicks and bruises across his face and on his neck. "Charlie, oh my God," Jack panted, reaching up and touching his sticky cheek. He pushed his hair back to observe the gashes in his forehead. Jack's eyes stopped on Charlie's broken arm. Jack grabbed at the sleeve, promptly ripping it at the shoulder. Charlie clenched his jaw together at the jerk to his arm. His arm was bent in an unnatural way, road rash gouged into his skin. "Shit..." Jack whispered, discarding the sleeve on the ground.

Charlie's body waved back and forth for a moment. Carefully, Jack reached for him, lowering him to sit down on the brick. "I think I twisted my ankle," Charlie croaked, pointing to his right boot. Tenderly, Jack undid the laces and slowly eased the boot off. Charlie let out a cry of pain. Jack folded the pants leg up to find a large swell protruding from his ankle. Charlie nearly screamed when he saw it.

"Yeah... it's swollen," Jack said, doing everything in his power to remain calm. All he knew was that he had to get Charlie home immediately. There was a doctor on their street. Surely they could find him and he could get Charlie treatment. Jack gathered Charlie into his arms, instructing him to grip his cane to help with pain. Hurriedly, as fast as Jack's legs would allow, he began back towards the neighborhood. After a moment of silence, Charlie's head bobbed back and forth against Jack's shoulder. Glancing down, he could tell his son was losing consciousness.

"Hey, Charlie," Jack said, glancing up at the approaching street. Another explosion with off overhead, making Jack tense up. "Stay awake for me, bud. Focus on me, alright. Talk to me."

Charlie's eyes drooped for a moment, "Lawrence did this to me..."

"What?!" Jack looked down at Charlie, who had allowed his eyes to close. "Hey, son. Charlie! Charlie, please stay awake."

"Dad, I'm trying..." Charlie insisted, lolling his head up against his father's shoulder. "I'm just... in a lot of pain."

"I know, I know," Jack nodded. He felt more stressed than he did in the trenches of France. "I'm gonna get you some help, Charlie. I promise, bud."

"He threw his backpack in front of my bike..." Charlie murmered.

"Why?" Jack asked, shaking his head. "Why would he do that to you?"

"'Cause..." Charlie muttered, his voice growing weak. "I wouldn't steal anymore cigarettes or alcohol for him..."

"Charlie?" Jack looked down at his son, stopping beneath a street light. Seeing the gash that had damped his hair was shocking. Majority of his face was covered his dark blood, purple bags beneath his eyes. "Charlie, please talk to me." Charlie was quiet and still, his head resting against Jack's arm. Jack shook as he looked at his small son curled up in his arms. He began walking again, hurrying back into his neighborhood.

The people who saw Jack holding the bloody Charlie yelped in surprise, standing in silence of shock. Abruptly, music stopped and people hushed as Jack hurried into the first section of the houses. "Where is Dr. Howard?" Jack asked, panting heavily. "Please tell him to go to Jack Dawson's house. _Now_."

Jack didn't even wait. He continued towards his house and bounded up the stairs. Max had now joined the women at the wine circle and was the first to see Jack emerge from the darkness with Charlie. He screamed in shock. Maggie leapt to her feet, gasping sharply.

"Rose, Rose!" Maggie hollered, pushing the front door open for Jack, who steamed past the other women of the circle who were in absolute shock.

Rose had finished her phone call more than fifteen minutes ago but had resigned to sinking into the chair beside it. She had been holding her head in her hands, having her own dilemma, when she heard the hoots and commotion outside. The front door swung open and a sweaty and frazzled Jack appeared in the foyer with a bloody Charlie. Rose was to her feet in a moment, her hand covering her mouth to stifle any screams. Jack laid Charlie down on the couch, uncaring of any stains.

"What happened?!" Rose said, her voice stuck in a pinched octave.

"Bike accident," Jack told her, tucking a pillow beneath his limp head. "And Lawrence caused it."

"How do you know?" Rose asked. She felt her breathing shallow and she seated herself on the edge of the couch, leaning over Charlie to inspect him. Her stomach lurched when she saw his arm.

"He told me," Jack replied plainly. "I knew it, Rose." Jack tenderly reached forward, cupping Charlie's rosy cheek. "He was messed up with them and we pretended he wasn't. He's been stealing alcohol and cigarettes this whole time."

"Jack..." Rose's voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. Shakily, her hands came to rest on her lap, though she struggled to sit still. "Oh my God, Jack..." Rose broke into a sob, pressing her hands, stained with Charlie's blood, to her face.

"Jack, Rose!" Maggie exclaimed from the foyer, "Dr. Howard is here!"

"You stay with the doctor," Jack told Rose, gripping her wrist tenderly. He hated to leave her in that moment, in her vulnerable state with tears running down her eyes, but his mind was fixated only on one thing. "I'll be back." He leaned forward, pecking her forehead.

"Jack!" She grabbed hold of his hand. "Where are you going?!"

"I'll be back," Jack insisted, giving her hand a squeeze. He passed Dr. Howard in the hallway, who was wearing his leisure clothes of a vest and slacks, but hustled along with his doctor bag in hand. Maggie looked to him with arched eyebrows as he briskly passed her without even glancing at her.

Jack walked with a distinct purpose. The party had slowed on their street, but as he continued further into the neighborhood, it grew lively and boisterous again. The fireworks had grown to be even more abundant and the sky lit up in jubilation. Jack ignored it all, however. He made it to the last street of the neighborhood and casually strode down to find a large collection of people between tables, some seated, and all with drinks in their hands.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Mr. Freedman," Jack said as a firework bathed him in green light.

"That would be me," A large man with a thick neck said. He had a moustache and unruly gray hair atop his head. His gray and white striped suit was sorely out of fashion. Beside him, leaned against the table, Jack recognized the lovely Shelia Freedman who had insulted his daughter. "What do you want?" Mr. Freedman asked gruffly.

"Darlin', that's Mr. Jack Dawson I was tellin' you about," Shelia said, tilting her bottle of beer in her hand. "The Negro-lover."

Jack felt his hands tighten into fists. "Shut the fuck up," Jack ordered, startling the petite woman. "I'm not here to talk about my daughter with you. I'm here to talk to you about my fuckin' son. You know, the one your son almost just killed."

"How dare you," Mr. Freedman roared. "My boys have been inside all evening."

"I sincerely fucking doubt that," Jack shot back, drawing himself up to his full height. "From what I know about you two, you're not the most attentive parents. If you've been out here all evening, how do you know your sons haven't left? There's plenty of exits out of this neighborhood."

"Who do you think you are, coming in here and insulting me as a father?!" Mr. Freedman shouted. He threw his beer bottle to the ground and it shattered between everyone's feet. "Who the _fuck _do you think you are, bub?"

"I'm Jack Dawson," He replied in a sneer. "And if Lawrence ever dares to go near Charlie again, your family is going to have fucking problems. I can promise you that, Mr. Freedman."

"Get the hell off my street," Mr. Freedman harshly shoved Jack. Jack caught his feet and stood his ground immediately, glaring daggers at the man. "You're probably just some drunk dolt making an idiot of yourself. Not my fault your son's some pussy who can't handle the leadership qualities my boys possess."

In the next moment, all Jack saw was red. Blindly, he threw his fist forward, clocking Mr. Freedman in the cheek bone. Jack threw his fist again and again until the man toppled onto the ground. Everyone surrounding Jack stood in stunned silence. Jack's breathing had grown heavy and he stood over the large man who held his bleeding nose.

"Keep your son away from my son," Jack insisted, pointing his finger at Mr. Freedman. Jack bit down on his lip for a moment and then knelt, grabbing hold of Mr. Freedman's collar. "Say it. Tell me that Lawrence will never go near Charlie again. I want to hear your fucking voice."

Mr. Freedman took a moment to spit some blood from his mouth and clear his throat. "Lawrence... won't go near Charlie."

"Thank you," Jack whispered before straightening up. He looked around at the people who were simply staring in flabbergasted shock. Jack rolled his shoulders for a moment before he promptly turned on the balls of his feet and began walking back to his house.


	26. Resurfacing

Chapter Twenty-Six

_July 5th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The grandfather clock in the hallway before the living room said it was after two-thirty in the morning. Jack paced for a moment and rubbed tiredly at his face. He more than anything wanted to fall back into his bed and pass out, but his mind was going a million miles a minute. He glanced to his cut up fists and, for a moment, he felt bad for losing his temper and getting physical with Mr. Freedman. Jack couldn't remember the last time he had been so enraged. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel natural to him. It had nearly been an out of body experience for Jack.

Rose was sunk down in a nearby love seat, her eyes glued to the wall at nothing in particular. Charlie had been taken to his bedroom after the doctor had put fourteen stitches in his forehead and stopped the bleeding. His arm was now being reset and put into a plaster cast. Dr. Howard had called for the assistance of another doctor who didn't live too far away, Dr. Stockington. Charlie had lost quite a bit of blood, but Dr. Howard assured them it wasn't life threatening. Jack hadn't told Rose what he had done. She had not the faintest clue that Jack had paid the Freedman's a visit. Jack was almost embarrassed and ashamed to tell her because it was so out of character.

Jack sighed and finally convinced himself to go sit beside Rose. She had been extremely quiet for the past four hours. He knew her mind was a mess like his, going a million miles an hour, but he knew she needed to relieve some of that pressure building up in her chest. Carefully, Jack sank into the couch beside Rose, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. Tiredly, her eyes turned on Jack, inspecting him closely.

"I imagine it won't be much longer..." Jack whispered, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "And I really do think he's going to be alright, Rose."

Rose lowered her eyes and sighed, "Jack... when I saw him, I just... shut down." Rose lifted her eyes to meet Jack's again, "I don't know what happened. It's the first time in motherhood I ever just froze and had no idea what to do."

"It's alright," Jack assured her gently. "We can't always know what to do. I didn't act my best tonight, either. I wasn't a great father. And I was scared, too."

"How could a child do that to another child?" Rose shook her head, nearly bewildered. "Charlie could have been killed."

Jack tilted his head back against the couch cushion. "Makes you wonder how a kid like Charlie even got caught up with a boy like Lawrence. Really goes to show that no matter how close you think you are to your children, there's always shadows and things you don't know. It doesn't matter what kind of parent you are, there will always be secrets and there's nothing you can do it about it."

"That terrifies me, Jack," Rose whispered after a beat of silence. "I have to tell you something else."

"Was is it?" He peered curiously at her. Exhaustion was evident on Rose's face and she blinked rapidly to stay awake. It made Jack ache. He more than anything wanted her to go lay down, but he knew it was a battle he would not win.

"I received a call today... right after you went to look for Charlie," Rose bunched up her skirt nervously in her sweaty palm. "My mother is dying. Very rapidly and very soon." Rose said it with no rhythm to her voice, nearly like a robot. Jack could tell she hadn't quite processed what she had been told and was now repeating. "Nathaniel left for England today with his mistress and the butler says my mother is in a state worse than ever."

"So, what's going to happen?" Jack asked gently.

"I have to go to Pittsburgh, I have no other option," Rose said, still in quite a daze. "It's terrible timing, I know... characteristically in the spirit of my mother," Rose shrugged, nearly sheepishly. "I never thought this would happen, Jack. I guess I've always just seen my mother as this immortal creature that was not susceptible to anything like us mortals."

Jack smirked at the idea. "I figured Ruth was going to bury all of us."

Rose smiled for only the faintest moment before it dissolved away. "What should I do, Jack? I told that butler I would take the next train in the morning. But that was before you brought Charlie home..."

"Let's just play it by ear," Jack told her, gently rubbing her arm. "Let's wait for Charlie to get all patched up by the doctor's. Worst case scenario, you leave tomorrow evening instead of in the morning."

"Okay..." Rose whispered, nodding her head meekly. Jack wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his lap. Tenderly, he kissed her on her forehead.

"Everything will be okay..." Jack whispered, pressing his cheek to her curls. "I promise."

...

Dr. Howard and Dr. Stockington had finished working on Charlie a little after three in the morning and they left shortly after amidst Jack and Rose's profusive thank you's for sacrificing their holiday evening for the young Dawson boy. After Jack closed the front door, the parents went upstairs to lay eyes on their son. They were surprised to see Valentina already in his door way, her cotton nightgown swaying back and forth.

"Tina, baby," Rose whispered gently, reaching out to touch her arm. "What are you doing up?"

Valentina grasped the doorway, leaning in to look at her younger brother. "I was worried about him and I heard the doctor's leave." Together, the small family crowded into the doorway of Charlie's room. He was sleeping rather soundly in bed. He had a large gauze pad secured to his forehead. The bruises beneath his eyes and on his jaw glared at his parents. His left arm was completely encased in a bulky white plaster cast, his small fingers just peaking out from the end. "Wow..." Valentina whispered, shaking her head. Her tight curls bobbed with her movement. "He took a pretty hard fall."

"A good reminder to always be careful, huh?" Jack asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Charlie. Valentina nodded in agreement with her father's words. Jack glanced to Rose. He could see the frame of her body visibly shaking. Slowly, Rose wound through the family and came to sit down on the edge of Charlie's bed. With a shaking hand, she gently grazed his cheek, pushing his hair back. Just sticking out beneath the gauze were a few stitches running through his eyebrows. He stirred in the next moment and his eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Rose whispered. Tears of relief clouded her eyes to see Charlie responsive, however. He hadn't been conscious since Jack had brought him home nearly six hours ago. Valentina squeezed onto the side of the bed with her mother while Jack came to stand at the foot. The family couldn't help but smile at the groggy boy.

"Am I... in my bedroom?" Charlie croaked, furrowing his brow. He felt a jolt of pain, however, and relaxed his muscles quickly. He brought his hand up to feel the gauze on his forehead. "What happened? Everything's so fuzzy..."

"You had an accident on your bike, Charlie," Rose told him, leaning her head over Valentina's shoulders. "It was a pretty nasty fall, but the doctor's said you're going to be alright."

"Is the Fourth of July over?" Charlie asked, his voice husky with sleep.

Jack smirked. "Yeah, bud, it's over."

"Where's Max?" Charlie squinted and glanced around the room for a moment.

"Well, if he's a good little boy, he's at home sleeping," Rose told him gently, adjusting his quilts gingerly. "It's the middle of the night, sweetheart. In fact, I think all of us should go to bed, too. We'll talk more in the morning, alright?"

"Okay," Charlie agreed, giving her half of a nod.

"I'm glad you're alright," Rose whispered. She leaned forward, tenderly leaving a kiss on the side of Charlie's forehead that had been spared of trauma. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Charlie replied. He was ready to slip back into a slumber. Rose smiled weakly and pat Valentina on the shoulder, leading her back to her bedroom. Jack lingered at the foot of Charlie's bed for a moment more before he quietly reached for his cane that had been leaned up against Charlie's nightstand. He then began for the door. "Dad?"

"Yeah, bud?" Jack turned on the balls of his feet, looking back towards his son laid up in bed.

"Am I gonna be punished?" Charlie asked. He looked so small in that moment beneath his mountain of quilts, bathed in the milky moonlight. His dirty and messy hair had an ashen glow to it and the shadows cast across his face only accentuated his exhaustion. The bulky cast laid beside him only made Charlie seem even more wiry.

Jack shuffled his feet and raked his hair back from his face. "I don't know, Charlie. Don't worry about that right now... just focus on feeling better. Good night, bud."

"Night, Dad."

...

The next morning came entirely too fast for the Dawson household. Rose was jolted awake not too long after seven in the morning, purely out of habit. She was entirely exhausted, however, and it only took a few moments of soaking the room in to remember her current predicaments between her mother and son. Rose rubbed deeply at her eyes and exhaled. When she turned her head on the pillow, she found Jack awake, too, staring at the ceiling.

"Did you sleep at all?" Rose asked with a scratchy voice. She reached for one of his hands that were folded over his stomach.

"Maybe an hour or two," Jack shrugged, his hair rustling against his pillow. "I wanted to make sure you slept."

Rose sighed and closed her eyes, listening to the birds tweet in the tree just outside their window. They had forgotten to draw the blinds when they had finally staggered into bed last night. It was another beautiful day outside, crisp and warm, without a cloud to be seen.

"Jack, I don't think I could make myself get on a train and go to Pittsburgh right now," Rose said. She turned her eyes on him, which were full of seriousness. "I can't leave you to take care of the kids, especially not with the state Charlie is in. I just can't go."

"So, what, you're just not gonna go see Ruth?" Jack's eyebrows furrowed together. "You're just going to wait for the funeral announcement to show up in the mail? Rose, you have to go. Your mother is _dying._ You'll never forgive yourself if you choose not to go."

"But, Jack-"

"Don't worry about me," Jack propped himself on his elbow, hovering over Rose. "I can take care of the kids. I can handle it."

"But Dr. Howard said the cast cannot get wet. Bath time will require more hands and it will take longer. And mobility! His ankle is sprained. Getting him up and down the stairs and to the bathroom will be necessary. Not too mention he will have follow-up doctor appointments for his concussion and Valentina needs us, too-"

"Rose, Rose..." Jack said gently, cupping her cheek tenderly. "Look, you're the greatest mom in the world. And the greatest wife. You do so much for this family, more than we could ever know. You gotta let me and the kids do you the same honor. Allow you to do things that are important to your life. We will survive for however long you need to be away from us. I'll make sure they eat and they bathe. I'll make sure they are where they need to be, when they need to be. I can do it, Rose. All you need to do is go to the train station and buy that ticket. I know, it feels like time isn't on our side... but when has it ever been, Rose? And when has that ever stopped us before?"

Rose shook beneath Jack's touch and exhausted, frustrated tears surfaced in her eyes. "I don't want to be away from you and the kids. I don't want to sleep in that museum they call a house. Jack... I don't want to watch her die..."

"It's not going to be easy," Jack shook his head. His bangs dangled in front of his bright blue eyes. "There's nothing I can say to make it any better. All I know is it's important that you're there in her final moments. At least so she can have someone. I know you two haven't had the best relationship, but you can't change the fact she's your mom. And... you can't turn your back on family, Rose."

Rose sniffled, the tears running down her face from the corner of her eyes. Her cheeks had grown red and she reached for Jack's shirt, gripping it as if he would disappear right in front of her. "I hate that you're right."

"I'll be no replacement of you for the kids... but they'll survive," Jack smiled, trying to lighten the mood. It worked and Rose weakly mustered up a grin in return. "You stay here in bed. I'm going to make everyone breakfast." He plopped a kiss on her forehead and untangled himself from their bedsheets. "You better be right there when I come back." He warned with a grin as he shut the door behind him. Rose sighed, her smile dissipating across her face. She sunk back into the covers and reached for Jack's pillow, stuffing her face into it and inhaling his comforting scent.

On the other side of the door Jack sighed and lowered his head for a moment, rubbing tensely at his temples. His head was throbbing fiercely. Clad only in his plaid pajama pants and loose white undershirt, Jack headed downstairs. As he crossed the foyer to head for the kitchen, the mirror on the wall by the front door caught his attention. He double took and paused, his eyes lingering on his reflection. Slowly, he approached the mirror and stared at his face. Jack didn't feel right looking at himself in that moment. He averted his eyes, lowering them to rest on his knuckles which were beginning to scab from his little fight the night before. Jack was drowned in regret of his actions. He had lost control and for that, he hated himself. It had been well over twenty years since Jack had resorted to physically unleashing his anger. When Jack thought back to himself last night, he simply didn't recognize the man acting in his skin. What kind of person was he? To be physically capable of reducing a man to the ground, sputtering with blood flinging from his lips. It was sickening to Jack. It wasn't the man he wanted to be for Rose. It wasn't the father he wanted to be for Valentina and Charlie. He would have to live with that decision, he realized sourly. And the scabs on his knuckles would only remind him of the moment he reverted back to being the boy he had always hated twenty years before.

...

Miles City looked so small from the train that was slowly climbing the mountain range to descend into the southern portion of the state. Rose stared longingly at the town, her forehead pressed up against the glass. The train bucked and jolted over the curves and uneven terrain of the rocks. The car of the train Rose was in was not very occupied. It was an unpopular time of the year to be travelling from the sunny mountains of Montana to the concrete jungle of Pittsburgh.

The train took its final curve in the mountain range tracks before it began its descent. Rose knew the tracks very well. She and Jack had travelled them dozens of times over. Miles City sank out of sight and Rose felt the insides of her stomach constrict into a knot. She opted to staring at the ugly brown and white striped carpet of the train beneath her black heels. She couldn't help but continue to think how hideous it was, wondering to herself who they hired to decorate the interiors. A familiar bump in the tracks drew her back from her thoughts, however, and she blinked rapidly. She sank her head into the rest of the seat and looked around her for a moment. No one was sitting near her.

Rose sighed as she contemplated the next several hours ahead of her. The last time the Dawson's had travelled to Pittsburgh was in 1919, when Jack had finally been back on his feet again. They went to pay their late respects to the marriage of Ruth and Nathaniel. Her mother still had her same taste in men. Slimy, seedy, and full of cash. Rose hadn't taken the children back to see Ruth, something she protested, but Ruth was always more interested in Charlie and it had rubbed Rose the wrong way. Ruth had only come to visit the Dawson's twice in their entire residency in Miles City. Once in 1915 and again in 1920. The mother and daughter hadn't conversed much, though Rose had steadily and like clock-work sent letters every three months with small tid-bits of information and acheivements in the children's lives. Rose rarely heard back.

The uncertainty of what she was steaming into weighed heavily on her. More than anything in that moment, Rose craved Jack. She wanted to and needed to, so desperately, touch him. Feel his warmth. Smell his intoxicating aroma. Hear that velvety voice. Rose longed for him deeply. He had always been her support through everything. There was never a thing in the world she couldn't tell Jack about. Besides being her lover and husband, Jack was her best friend, and she hated being away from him. Rose realized her eyes had grown wet and she sniffled quietly as to not draw attention to herself.

Rose dabbed gingerly at her eyes with a handkerchief and then reached for her suitcase that she had carelessly left on the empty seat beside her. She unzipped the bag and reached in, withdrawing one of Jack's button-ups. She pressed the fabric to her lips and inhaled gently, catching his scent. Rose fell against the window, holding the button-up to her chest. She ran her thumb along the cotton, feeling the stitches beneath her skin. She sighed unevenly and lowered her eyes. She didn't know how she was going to manage any of this. Rose had only been away from Jack for forty-five minutes and, already, she was itching to turn tail and go back home. Rose was so overwhelmed by her longing for her family, she couldn't find the energy to mentally prepare herself for what she would find come her arrival in Pittsburgh. It was all too much to think about, so Rose sank down in her chair and draped Jack's shirt over her chest, willing herself to doze off and catch up with some much needed sleep.


	27. Across the Distance

Chapter Twenty-Seven

_July 5th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Evening time was setting in across the sleepy mountain town. The Dawson household had spent it as hermits. Jack was surprised, however, by how many neighbors came by to check in on Charlie. His actions last night had been laced in fright and fears. Jack was sure he had given many people something to worry about. It was nice to receive their reassuring smile when Jack told them it had mostly chalked up to being only a very broken arm. Jack had just gotten a pot of water on the stove. The windows in the kitchen were open and the gentle draft brushing across his skin reminded him of Rose. There was a knock at his door, however, drawing him away from the sherbert sky beyond the windows. When he opened the door, he found Maggie and Max on his front step.

Maggie grinned, holding a ceramic pot out to him. "I made y'all a pot roast. Lots of veggies for the patient's health," Maggie winked playfully. "I hope I caught you before you made supper."

"Yeah, good timing, actually," Jack nodded. He stepped aside to allow them into the front foyer. "This smells a lot better than whatever the hell I was about to make."

"Mr. Jack," Max caught the tall man's attention. "Can I go see Charlie?"

"Yeah, he's awake," Jack grinned. "He would probably love to see you. He's polishing his train cars with his sister." Max seemed so delighted to hear this and darted up the stairs in a moments notice. Maggie watched lovingly as her son disappeared around the bend in the stairs. "Thanks for bringing this over, Maggie," Jack said, taking it to the kitchen. She followed shortly behind him.

"I just wanna help y'all out," Maggie told him, glancing to the pot of water on the stove. Jack promptly turned the burner off. "I feel so bad. Everything just happened at once, Jack."

"Well, it's not to supposed to work in your favor, is it?" Jack shrugged, peeling the cover off to see a wonderfully moist and marinated pot roast. He felt his stomach growl at the very sight. "We've been through worse. We'll be alright."

"You know, Rose hasn't ever really mentioned her mother," Maggie shook her head and adjusted her sun hat. "In the seven years I've known her, I can't recall even so much as a peep about her mother."

"They don't have a very good relationship," Jack told her, reaching for plates to fix for the kids. "Her mother doesn't agree with anything Rose has ever done. Especially marrying me."

"But you're great!" Maggie exclaimed and then she laughed. "Okay, I wouldn't talk to her either if that were the case. Poor Rose, though... it's hard losing family, no matter the relationship. Blood's blood, right? When is she due back? Arthur and I would like to send flowers."

"Not sure yet," Jack replied as he cut thick slices of the pot roast and gathered the steamed vegetables up around the edges. "We don't know how long she has left to live."

"Well..." Maggie glanced around the kitchen for a moment. "Do you need help, Jack? Do you plan on working during this time?"

Jack paused from arranging Valentina and Charlie's plates, looking towards Maggie. "I don't know. I hadn't even thought about work, to be honest."

"Why don't I watch them during the day?" Maggie offered, setting her hands on the cool countertops of the island. "I'll just bring Max and William over while you go to the office. I'll leave in the evenings so you can have your family time. I'll cook and everything."

"Maggie, that's, uh, that's really generous," Jack shook his head. "And requires _a lot _of your time. I can pay you-"

"Dilly-dally," Maggie waved her hand dismissively. "I won't accept any of your money. I want to do it because I care about your family. I can even have dinner prepped for you so all you have to do is throw it in the oven!"

"Maggie, I don't know..." Jack said hesitantly. "That's so much to ask of you."

"Oh, it's really not!" Maggie came to stand beside him now and folded her hands together. "Please, Jack. I know how you men are. You've got your dignity, your code, what have you! But let me help, _please. _You need an extra set of hands."

"Well," Jack sighed now and lowered his eyes to the wonderful meal Maggie had brought over. "Just during the day. And I won't be working a full shift," Jack looked at Maggie. "And I don't want you to worry about cleaning our house or grocery shopping for us. I can do that."

"If you insist," Maggie grinned. "If I need something or want to do something, though, you ain't gonna be here to stop me, Mister."

"There's one condition to you doing this," Jack said as he reached for silverware and put it on the plate. "You have to let me pay you. _Above _minimum wage."

"Why are you so worried about payin' me? I'm a mother. It's what us women do!"

Jack stopped now and just smiled at her.

"What? What's that smirk for? What'd I say?" Maggie became rather flustered.

"I hate when people, especially women, say it's just 'what you do'... A woman can be so much more, Maggie. She can be anything she wants to be. You're a human and I want to pay you for offering your service to me. Because it means a lot to me."

Maggie blushed furiously. "Fine. If you insist. Don't get up onto your soap box now." The duo broke up into laughs as they took the plates upstairs to the children.

...

The crickets and cicadas outside Jack's window croaked loudly. He had never realized how loud the night time symphony in Miles City was. He stared vacantly at the ceiling above him, his hands folded over his stomach. Jack let out a long sigh and turned his head towards the empty half of the bed beside him. He reached his hand out, running his fingers over the cool silk. The bed didn't feel right without Rose. They rarely were apart from each other and when they were it was absolute torture. Jack reached for her pillow and held it against his chest longingly. He thought woefully of Rose, who was probably not getting any rest on the train during its overnight journey. He was anxious to hear her voice again and wished she could call him right at that moment.

Jack closed his eyes and pressed his face into the pillow, catching her heavenly scent. She smelled like a field of sweet flowers. Jack's entire body ached and he hugged the pillow closer. How could he expect to get any sleep when being away from Rose evoked physical pain? He sighed again, resting his cheek against the pillow. He looked around the dark room briefly, willing Rose to appear from the shadows. He rubbed at his eyes but paused when the scabs on his knuckles scraped against his cheekbones. In the darkness, Jack held his hands above his head, staring at the nasty scabs. He felt the blood coursing through his veins throb beneath his skin. Jack squeezed his eyes shut as his hands began to shake.

_Stop, stop, stop... _Jack told himself, pressing his palms to his face. _It doesn't have to define who you are. _Jack turned on his side, facing away from the empty half of the bed that taunted him. His eyes became fixated on the curtains pulled over the large picture window overlooking the front yard. Behind them, he could make out the shadows of the tree branches and the outline of the moon. _I'll never let it happen again, I swear. I can't, _Jack told himself while gnawing on his lip. _How could I let myself do that? I walked directly out of that house while my boy was unconscious and my wife was crying just to punch a man in the face. Is that who I really am? What if I lose control and hit Rose? _Jack felt a chill seep into him and he sunk his head into his pillow. _No... I would never... but I always told myself I'd never punch a man again... _Jack closed his eyes, a dread unfurling in his stomach.

In that moment, Jack needed Rose more than ever.

...

_July 6th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The squealing of the train brakes roused Rose from the pitiful nap she was having. She lifted her head, a loose curl falling across her cheek. She blinked groggily as she felt the train losing speed. Slowly, Rose sat up, Jack's button-up crumpling in her lap. She gazed out the window as the train chugged to a stop, steam rising from the tracks. There was the city of Pittsburgh with its tall sparkling sky scrapers piercing the clouds. Rose ached to see the mountains. She stuffed Jack's shirt into her suitcase and lugged it to her side. She queued off the train and as her heels clacked across the platform, she couldn't help but grimace. The air smelled profusely of petrol and motor oil. And it was so much noisier than she remembered. Perhaps she just wasn't used to it anymore.

Rose held her suitcase in front of her as she stood at the top of the wide red brick staircase that descended to the street level. She watched dozens of heads bustle by, cars putter around the corner, and heard the drilling of construction not too many blocks away. It was a sleepless city and Rose was not at all attracted to the dense urban lifestyle. The wind brushed her short red curls along her shoulders and her body dully ached from the long uncomfortable train ride. The tooting of the horn had her looking over her shoulder. A train conductor with shiny gold buttons along his coat leaned out from the car.

"All aboard for Helena, Montana!"

Rose sighed and shifted the weight between her feet, slouching her shoulders. She watched as the last waves of travellers flocked towards the train, holding their tickets out to the employee who happily clipped them. More than anything, Rose wanted to get on that train. But she knew she couldn't. She looked back to the city, gripping her suitcase tightly, as if it was her only life line left in the world. People brushed by her but she paid them no mind. She focused on the sky, looking at the puffy clouds.

_I hope Jack's standing beneath fluffy clouds today... _She thought, pursing her lips. _We're still underneath the same sky... Jack's right, though. I have to do this._

Rose finally set off down the stairs, her heels clacking loudly. She made it to street level and began a brisk walk towards the rolling hills of Pittsburgh where all the rich people comfortably nested away. Pittsburgh hadn't changed much. It always baffled Rose how a city of its caliber, with its large and constantly shifting population, could remain so recognizable. Rose passed the same businesses she always had while making her trek to the Fischer estate. The porcelain and china dishware store was first, followed by a cheese vendor that had an orante patio for customers to enjoy Italian sodas and wedges of cheese on. Then there was the old historical cottage building that housed a fitting and seamstress establishment on the first floor with an old annex on the second floor. And then the pottery store which sported delicately hand crafted dishes and pots in the spotless window.

As Rose followed the familiar curve in the road, she grew anxious. She knew the entrance to her mother's neighborhood would be the first right she came upon. Rose still had not come to terms with being away from her family. She knew she was only walking into disaster upon ringing her mother's doorbell. She didn't know what to expect. Or what'd she see. As the hedges along the side of the road began to sprout the characteristic tulips of the meticulously landscaped neighborhood, Rose's anxiety turned to utter dread. She stopped at the opening of the first street on the right and only gazed at the houses that lined the ascending hill.

_My mother is up there, only six houses away, and she's dying, _Rose thought to herself, her eyes seemingly vacant. _My mother is actually about to die._ And that's when the realization really washed over Rose and she felt her lips quiver. _She's simply going to cease to exist on this planet. And time will go on, as if she had never dipped her toes in the pool of life... _She felt tears mist her eyes and she pressed her hand to her lips. Rose attempted to catch a grip on herself, taking in a sharp breath. She knew she couldn't appear on the doorstep already a crumbling mess. She took one final, uneven, deep breath and passed her suitcase to the other hand. Rose straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin up, finally willing herself to cross the tulip threshold that was her mother's neighborhood and Rose's prison of anxiety.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

Jack had spent majority of the morning after breakfast in his office. The family of three had been resorting to eating in Charlie's room to save the poor boy the hassle of constantly getting up, especially because sleep was so crucial in the early stages of recovery. For Charlie, it was an absolute delight hosting his father and sister in his room. Jack knew it wouldn't be Rose's way of doing things, but he figured it would be fun to shake things up in these turbulent times. After breakfast, Valentina had headed off to the library for her history club. After two hours had passed, Jack realized it was time to check up on Charlie, and carelessly disregarded his paint brush in the murky cup of water on his cluttered desk.

He appeared in Charlie's doorway just a few moments later to see the boy sitting up, focused on his cast, which he was hunched over. Jack furrowed his brow. Charlie was obviously not aware of Jack's presence so the man gently rapped on Charlie's door to catch his attention. He looked up, startled, and that's when Jack saw a thin paint brush in his hands.

"Hey there, bud. What'cha up to?" Jack asked, remaining in the doorway.

"I'm really bored," Charlie told him, giving a half-shrug from the weight of his cast. "Having the window open just isn't enough, Dad. And can I take these annoying pads off my head yet? I'm not even bleeding anymore."

Jack grinned and shifted his weight back and forth before he went to Charlie's bed side, easing himself down on the edge. "Alright. Hold still. I don't want to undo any of the stitches." Slowly and carefully, Jack peeled the tape holding the edges of the gauze to Charlie's forehead. As he peeled them back, he felt his heart lurch at the sight of Charlie's stitches, which were painted black and blue.

"What do my stitches look like?" Charlie asked and quickly, Jack tore his eyes from them.

"They look fine," Jack told him. "They're nice and clean. You should heal up smoothly."

"Are these stitches like what I think they are?" Charlie looked up at his father who was crumpling the gauze up to throw away. "Did they stitch me up like Mom does my winter coats?"

Jack smiled and nodded, looking at Charlie's green eyes. Fleetingly, Rose crossed his mind. "Yup. Needle and thread, just like with fabric."

"Could you see my brain?" Charlie asked, almost eagerly.

"No, Charlie. All I saw was blood," Jack shook his head. Suddenly, the steel on the paint brush glinted in the open windows light, catching Jack's attention. That's when he realized Charlie had been painting his cast. It was only in the beginning states but Jack could tell it was shaping up to form the cedar forest that lead up to the mountain range surrounding Miles City. Charlie had just started the sky, dotted with birds, and amidst the stages of descending into a colorful evening. "Wow, Charlie. Is this what you've been doing all morning?" Jack reached out, gripping the elbow of Charlie's cast to inspect the work. "Very creative. That's going to look nice."

"Yeah, this darn thing is so heavy," Charlie sighed. "Sometimes it's too much work to sit myself up on my own and look out the window. So I decided to paint the view on my cast." Jack smiled at this. "I was also curious about what would happen if I painted it. It's a little gritty, but it works just as well as canvas with some extra paint."

Jack set his hand on Charlie's knee. "Hey, why don't I set us up some easels and paint on the back porch? Whaddya say? Wanna come get some fresh air outside with your old man? We can finish your cast."

Charlie grinned at this offer. "Yeah, I would really like to go outside, Dad."

"Oh, I know," Jack nodded. _Mr. King of Outdoors. _"You wait here. I'll be back to get you downstairs in a few minutes." Jack reached for his cane and began towards the door, but Charlie called after him, stopping him in his tracks.

"When is Mom coming back?" Charlie asked.

Jack pursed his lips for a moment and put his weight against his cane. He looked over his shoulder at Charlie. "I don't know, bud. I hope soon."

"Is Grandma... dying?"

"Yeah, Charlie," Jack turned around completely now. "Things aren't looking great for Grandma Ruth right now."

"Is Mom OK?" Charlie asked, which surprised Jack. He had to pause to think about the question.

"Your mother is a strong woman, bud. She'll be fine."

"Before she comes home, could you take me to the store so I can buy her some flowers?"

Jack smiled at his boy. "Of course. I think me and Valentina should do the same thing." And with that, Jack headed back towards his office to begin collecting supplies for the afternoon of father-son bonding Jack desperately wanted to take his mind off of things.


	28. Draining

Chapter Twenty-Eight

_July 6th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

417 Foxboro Avenue. There it was. Rose had never much found a curb appeal in the house. It was of modern style with large windows lacking any wooden panes. The house was a dark brown with a black roof. Grey bricks accented the foundation and corners of the structure, towering into a chimney. It was a vast difference from Rose's white, red, and green rustic country home. The yard was manicured with tall cedar hedges and hibiscuis flowers lining the beds. Parked in the very far back of the long winding terra cotta driveway that wound around the house was a sleek black Ford.

Rose felt as if she was walking in slow motion as she set up the driveway towards the large open front porch. Her feet ached tenderly from being in her heels for nearly two days straight. At her side, her suitcase bumped against her hip. She was slowly losing the energy to carry it. As she approached the front door, Rose's exhaustion hit her full force like a train and she stopped just short of the stone stairs that would lead her up. Straight ahead, she spied the door, painted dark and moody like the rest of the house. It had an oblong window running its length, but the inside was masked by a charcoal colored drape. Rose's breathing shallowed and she lowered her head, trying to muster the courage to knock on the door. Every possible scenario of what could be on the other side of that door played through her mind. She ached for Jack painfully in that moment. She missed him with every fiber in her being.

Amidst her inner turmoil, the front door of the estate opened, but Rose hadn't noticed. She was too caught up in thoughts of her current predicament in life. She was too busy trying to remember happier times to ward off the growing feeling of dread. A voice clearing, however, brought Rose back to reality. Her head snapped up, her green eyes as wide as saucers. Standing just at the top of the stairs was a tall slender man dressed in a crisp tuxedo. He had brown hair that he kept slicked back to mask the signs of his receding hairline. Just above his lips was a pencil-thin moustache.

"Mrs. Dawson, a pleasure to see you," He greeted, bowing slightly. "I'm Albertson. We've met, though, I know it was many years ago."

Rose had to catch her breath for a moment. He had given her quite a fright. "Yes, Mr. Albertson, of course I remember you. My son wouldn't stop asking you how you had gotten so tall."

A small smile twitched at the butler's lips. "Allow me to take your bag and show you inside. I imagine you would like a nice hot bath. I will have one of the maids draw one for you and I will have an early lunch ready for you soon after," Albertson said, briskly coming down the stairs and taking the suitcase from Rose's hand. He then pressed his hand gingerly to her shoulder blades, directing her onto the porch. Rose's heart beat ferociously in her chest as they approached the front door. "Mrs. Fischer is taking a nap presently, so you needn't worry about getting to her side so quickly."

The duo came to the threshold and Rose began to hesitate. Albertson waited expectantly as he had been trained to allow the woman to go first. Rose bit at her lip and took in a deep breath, forcing herself through the door. She almost expected to be struck down on the spot, but there she was, standing in the large grand foyer of her mother's new estate. Marble staircases, split in two, following the curves in the wall. Black and white checkered marble foors. The house was so large and foreign. Rose felt vulnerable standing there. Albertson came in right behind her, promptly shutting the door.

"Allow me to show you to your room, Mrs. Dawson," Albertson gestured towards the closest staircase. "Mrs. Fischer is living in the library as of these days. She says it is the most comfortable room. The entirety of the second floor is yours for privacy at this moment. You may remember there's a second library at the end of the corridor," Albertson continued as she followed him up the stairs. Rose focused on his words and made sure to not allow her eyes to wander around her surroundings. They began down the long and wide hallway, accented with gaudy paintings, busts, and blooming flowers. The hallway was so long, Rose felt as if it was spiralling away right in front of her. "I'll be giving you the last room across from the library. It's the quietest and has a large balcony. There's also a phone for your private use," Albertson said, glancing towards the obviously overwhelmed woman. "We are expecting more guests in the coming days. I wanted to be sure you could have all the comforts the Fischer estate has to offer."

"More guests?" Rose lifted her eyes to the tall butler. "May I ask who else is coming?"

"Mrs. Madeleine Force-Dick, accompanied by her three children," Albertson replied. "You may remember Mrs. Fischer and Mrs. Dick's close companionship."

Rose felt a sting inside of her. Madeleine had been the daughter Ruth had always wanted and Rose remembered how pronounced that feeling was when they had been planning her and Jack's wedding. It hurt Rose so much that she had urged Jack to celebrate their original wedding date of April 17th instead of that of June 30th. A sour feeling errupted in Rose's stomach at the idea of having to see Madeleine again. She remained quiet, however.

Rose and Albertson came to the last door on the left and the butler pushed it open for Rose. She was familiar with the room. It's where she and Jack had stayed the one time they had previously been there. It had a large poster bed with dark wood leading up towards a silky and sheer canopy. The night stands and console tables matched that of the bed frame. There was a large fireplace with several cream colored plush seats and ottomans gathered in front of it. Chestnut bookcases sat on either side of the fireplace, crammed full of books on birds. Nathaniel Fischer was an avid bird watcher. The walls were covered in tall mirrors and there were two french doors leading to a large stone balcony overlooking the massive garden trailing out from the back of the estate. It was too much room for the one sole person and again, Rose felt a feeling of vulnerability creep across her.

Albertson brushed past Rose and took her suitcase to her bed. Promptly, he opened it and carefully began pulling her clothes out. Rose watched from the doorway as Albertson gingerly hung her dresses, placing them in the large walk-in closet beside the entrance to the marble bathroom. He then took her stockings and undergarments, placing them in the drawer of the dresser near the bed. Rose was too tired to even fight his hospitality at that moment. She fully entered the room and flicked the light on to the large bathroom, laying her eyes on the claw foot tub surrounded by large mirrors.

Albertson went back to Rose's suitcase and paused, lifting Jack's button-up. He looked over his shoulder, "Is this yours, Mrs. Dawson?"

"Oh," Rose blushed madly, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. "Yes, that's mine. You don't have to worry about unpacking everything, Albertson. Thank you, though."

"Well, then, I will let Cindy know you are ready for your bath," Albertson replaced the button-up in the suitcase and turned towards Rose, bowing slightly.

"Oh, that's okay," Rose waved her hand dismissively. "I can draw my own bath, thank you. I would like to be alone for a bit, if that's alright."

"Certainly," Albertson nodded, straightening his shoulders. "Shall I have lunch delivered to your room?"

"No, no," Rose shook her head. She had forgotten the life of constant service, one that included that revolving door of multiple questions. Rose did not miss that life at all. "I will come down when I am ready."

"Mrs. Dawson, are you sure?" Albertson was obviously preturbed by Rose's unwillingness to have service done for her. He folded his hands in front of him. He had grown so accustomed to living an estate that constantly needed things from him. "If that's your wish, Mrs. Dawson..." Slowly, Albertson began towards the door, but Rose called after him.

"Could someone come tell me if my mother wakes up?" Rose asked, rather meekly.

Albertson grinned politely. "Of course, Mrs. Dawson."

And with that, Albertson shut the door behind him, leaving Rose alone in her guest room that was nearly half the size of the first floor of her own house. Rose sighed and went to the bed, collapsing across it. The feeling of exhaustion hit her all over again and carelessly, she kicked her heels off, listening to them clatter to the ground. She sighed, scrunching her toes up. She reached into her suitcase, grabbing hold of Jack's shirt. She placed it to her nose and inhaled slightly, tilting her back across the silk sheeks.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

Jack decided to go pick deli sandwiches up for dinner. He was due to return to the office the next day and Maggie was still willing to come watch the kids during the day for him, something he would be eternally grateful for. As he left the sandwich shop with a bag full of extra pickle spears, potato crisps, and macaroni salad, he glanced up towards the sherbert sky. About this time, he and Rose would be preparing to serve dinner. And after that, they would have been unwinding and having a drink together. Though it had only been one day, Jack was withdrawling from not being around Rose. She was part of his every day routine and he struggled to wake up and not be greeted by her beautiful smile. And during the day, it was apparent he lacked the energy from not hearing her sing-songy voice.

The sound of metal clattering to the ground caught Jack's attention and he gazed across the plaza to see a group of young boys laughing as they surrounded a knocked over trash can. Jack recognized one of the kids as Ivan, and beside him a boy with a rats nest of brown hair, the tallest, was capturing the boys attention by talking to them. Jack could only assume the largest boy was Lawrence. Jack had never seen him before, but he was certain he was looking directly at the child who had seriously injured Charlie. Jack felt his blood pressure and body temperature rising as he watched the boys continue on, leaving the trash can knocked over. One of the boys made eye contact with Jack and began whispering with his friends. The boys wearily glanced to Jack as they moved on, away from the plaza.

After they left, Jack picked the trash can up and continued on his way home. His breathing had shallowed and he struggled to get enough air. Just the sight of a Freedman had Jack entirely wound up. Jack couldn't remember the last time someone was able to evoke so much energy from him. It was draining and Jack wished it didn't bother him as much as it did. Seeing Lawrence, with the same general build as his father, sent Jack back to the night of Fourth of July, standing over Mr. Freedman as he gushed blood and sputtered to catch air. Jack squeezed his eyes closed, shutting the memories down. It was too late, however. Jack was again drowned in self-hate and regret. He still couldn't find it in him to forgive himself for acting so rashly. Maybe Mr. Freedman really wasn't aware his children had left that night. It had been unfair to call him an inattentive father when he had four of his own to look after. Jack couldn't justify his actions. He felt as if he was missing parts of the story and had acted without caring. But when confronted with the memories of an unconscious and bloody Charlie in his arms, Jack became sorely conflicted. Every night when he laid down to bed, scenes of a severely injured Charlie flashed through his mind. All he could see was the deep road rash digging into his disoriented arm. The river of blood pouring from his head. The way Charlie was so weak and loose. It haunted Jack. He felt as if he failed Charlie as a father. And in the two days since the accident, Jack felt as if he was continually failing his family.

Jack swung the gate open to his front yard and bounded up the stairs to the porch. He paused at the door and lowered his head, glancing to the bag of food he had brought home. Jack pressed his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. He mentally prepared himself before he swung the door open.

"Dinner's here!" Jack called through the house.

"We're in the kitchen, Daddy!" Valentina's voice called back.

Jack was surprised to hear this and ventured further into the house. When he entered the kitchen, Charlie and Valentina were sitting at the table each holding cards in their hands. Charlie's cast painting was finished. It was vibrant and easily noticeable across the room. It obviously made Charlie happy and Jack had been proud to watch him use his arm as a canvas. Charlie's leg was propped up on a vacant chair beside him. The kids were playing the card game war and were obviously having fun when Jack brought dinner in.

"Hey, bud, how'd you get downstairs?" Jack asked as he began unpacking and organizing the food on the island. It was the first time since the accident that Charlie had come down to the first floor.

"Tina helped me," Charlie replied while placing a card onto the table. He huffed upon seeing his sister had won that round and watched as she triumphantly scraped the cards to her winning pile. "My ankle doesn't hurt as much anymore. I think the swellings going down."

"That's good," Jack nodded as he placed each sandwich onto a plate and put a heaping serving of extras on the side. "That means dinner is officially back to being hosted in the kitchen."

"Aw, but it was cool when we ate and looked at my train collection," Charlie lifted his puppy dog eyes towards his father who only smiled while he continued fixing the dinner plates. Once Jack had finished, he carried both the plates to the table.

"Put your cards away, it's time to eat," He told them, waiting for them to clear their places. As he set their meals down in front of them, he looked to both of the children. "Your mother cannot know we ate outside of the kitchen. We all have to go to the grave with that secret, alright? It's unheard of not to eat in the kitchen to your mother."

Valentina smiled before taking a crunch out of a pickle spear. "Has Momma called yet? I wanted to talk to her."

"Not yet," Jack replied, almost woefully. He focused on fixing himself a plate. Before he sat down, he opened all the windows to make it feel like Rose was home. He then joined the kids at the table, starting on his sandwich immediately. "She probably only just got there. I imagine she needs to bathe and eat and get situated before she calls."

"Are we gonna see Grandma before she... y'know..." Charlie asked, growing quieter and quieter as his sentence continued.

Jack took his time swallowing his food before he shrugged. "I don't know, bud. That's your mother's call."

"I wish I could give Momma a big hug," Valentina shook her head, her french braids beating against her neck.

Jack smiled weakly, looking to his daughter. "Me too, Tina."

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose had soaked in the tub much longer than she anticipated. She simply couldn't force herself to rise out of the warm and steamy water. She had found bath salts and perfume soaps beneath the sink in the bathroom and had relished in the first bits of comfort she had had in the past two days. When she emerged from the bathroom, the sky was turning into a vibrant orange, bleeding through the windows that covered the walls. Nobody had been in her room and she was relieved Albertson hadn't insisted on bringing her lunch. It was well into dinner time now. Rose dressed comfortably but nicely, sporting a pastel yellow dress with white lace hemming. She stuck to only wearing stockings to be quiet as she slipped from her room and hurried down the terrifyingly long hallway. She emerged on the platform at the top of the stairs and peered into the vacant front foyer. Carefully and cautiously, as if she had been trapped in a murderer's house, Rose crept down the stairs.

She wasn't very familiar with the floor plan but had been in enough large mansions to know the basic layout. Rose headed down a narrow hallway that lead towards tall marble archways. She found the dining room first. A fire was roaring in the room despite no one occupying it. Rose was certain the helpers of the estate were ordered to have all fireplaces in use, strictly for show. Rose could only roll her eyes at the familiar stuffy ways of rich people. Rose walked along the wall mahogany dining room table that sat twelve. Each place had porcelain dishware occupying it. Gingerly, Rose grazed her finger along a crisp white linen, waiting patiently for the next dinner party. As she approached the end of the table, she came in distance of the warmth of the fire. Slowly, her eyes gazed towards the mantle, where a tall painting hung, almost taunting her.

It was a painting Rose had never seen before. It must have been commissioned in the past two years. It was a painting of Ruth and Nathaniel. Ruth was sitting at the forefront, wearing a blue dress. The artist was talented enough to show off the velvety texture of her dress. She was wearing a large green jewel around her neck, fastened by a gold chain. Her hands were folded in her crossed legs. Her red hair was painted much more vibrant as she wore it in her normal pinned fashion against the nape of her neck. Her skin was clear and devoid of any wrinkles or blemishes. Her blue eyes pierced Rose. Standing just behind the wiry woman was her thick second husband, Nathaniel Fischer. He was a wide man with two chins, but the artist had politely thinned him down for the painting. He had white whispy hair atop his head and the beadiest brown eyes. His narrow lips made no attempt to smile for the painting. He was wearing a crisp tuxedo with a vibrant red vest. Tucked into the pocket was a shiny gold pocket watch. Rose found herself gaping at the picture while a chill seeped into her bones.

"Mrs. Dawson?"

Rose gasped sharply and spun on the marble floors in her stockings. She pressed her hand to her collar bone, her heart rate spiking. Albertson was standing in the archway at attention, his back as straight as an arrow.

"I apologize, Mrs. Dawson. I did not meet to startle you," Albertson bowed politely.

"No, I'm sorry," Rose shook her head, rustling her curls. "I'm just aimlessly wandering around."

"That's quite alright," Albertson grinned, which comforted Rose a bit. "There's a lot to look at in this house. Mr. and Mrs. Fischer have quite the artistic touch when it comes to interior design. Mr. Fischer's love of antique furniture cannot go without note."

"Yes," Rose replied breathily, rubbing her sweaty palms against her skirt. "The dining room table looks to be quite old."

"It was bought at auction," Albertson nodded, glancing towards the long and large table. "It is said to have belonged to an ex-patriot of France, an author, who had many type writers arranged on this table to work on different parts of his book at the same time."

"That's an interesting story," Rose said as politely as possible.

"I am told you're an author, as well, Mrs. Dawson."

Rose nodded stiffly, her mouth rather dry. "Yes, I've published a few fictional novels."

Albertson smiled again. "Mrs. Fischer has awakened and she is hungry. Would you like to join her for dinner in the library?"

Rose's heart began thudding in her chest again. "Yes. Of course. Please, lead the way." She felt numb as she left the dining room, venturing further down the hallway. She was terrified to see her mother, for many reasons. Rose felt herself trembling as Albertson stopped outside the library. She didn't know if she was ready. She felt as if she was going to hit the floor at any moment.

"Go on," Albertson told her, opening the door. "Dinner shall be served shortly."

Rose's breathing shallowed and she nodded, still stalling at the threshold. After a moment, she finally grappled onto some meager courage. She looked to the patient butler and nodded. "Thank you, Albertson."


	29. The Past

Chapter Twenty-Nine

_July 6th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The Fischer estates library was twice the size of Rose's at home. When she walked through the doorway, her eyes were immediately drawn towards the tall vaulted ceilings. The amount of books occupying the room astounded her, but Rose was aware Nathaniel was very well read. There were many mannequins displayed around the room. From the shadows of the fireplace, they were rather eerie. Each of the mannequins displayed old relics of war uniforms, some dating as far back as the Texas Revolution. In the center of the room, spanning in front of the fireplace, was a social and resting area that was sunk beneath the floor level with a few short steps. Rose's eyes halted when she saw a mountain of quilts and a body occupying one of the plush couches near the fireplace. The door quietly shut behind her and it startled her. It echoed as though she were being thrown into prison.

The library, with its swirling marble floors and tall pillars, looked stunning in the evening light. Just beyond the tall windows, the first chirps of the nocturnal creatures were stirring. It wouldn't be long before the milky moonlight overtook the vibrant sunset. Slowly, on her silent stocking feet, Rose approached the dip in the floor and gazed out. There she was. Ruth was propped up, a cup of steaming tea in her hands. She looked so horribly thin. Ruth had always been a small woman, but her cheekbones had grown so prenounced and her bones protuded from her body at all angles. Her eyes and hair were no longer vibrant and Rose could see from where she stood that Ruth's hands were shaking unsteadily. Ruth noticed Rose's shadow and she perked up, gazing across the room. When their eyes met, Rose almost felt as if she was laying eyes on a stranger.

"Rose...?" Her voice was so fragile, as if it was a porcelain vase. "Rose, is that you? I believe my eyes are playing tricks on me."

Rose struggled to gain control of her vocal cords. She shivered from where she stood. "It's me, Mother."

"Why are you here?" Ruth asked, setting her tea on the table beside her. She gingerly pulled her quilts up around her, encasing her thin body. "Nobody told me you were coming."

"Albertson called me," Rose replied, petrified in place.

"I certainly did not tell him to do that," Ruth huffed. Even when gravely ill, she never allowed for her persona to droop. "I will have a word with him about appropriate phone usage."

"Mother, don't," Rose shook her head. She finally willed herself to climb down the stairs and she entered the social area of the library. Rose glanced towards the empty couch sitting opposite of Ruth. She ran her hands along her skirt for a moment before she lowered herself to sit across from her mother. The warmth of the fire licked up and down her arms, but her goosebumps remained. "Calling me was the right thing to do," Rose insisted gently. She felt nervous and full of fidgets beneath her mother's stare. It was almost as if it was 1912 again and Rose was that obedient and god-fearing girl, chained to the iron pole that was her mother. Rose had to remind herself that Ruth's power no longer lingered. It didn't stop her growing anxiety, however.

Ruth reached for the table beside her, grabbing hold of a handkerchief which she delicately dabbed at her nose. "Why are you here, Rose?"

Rose was absolutely astounded by the question. To her, it was obvious. But she also knew her mother's pride in her character. Even when slowly withering away, Ruth would act like she was still pushing mountains together. Rose calculated her words slowly, nervously wringing her hands together in her lap. "I was told you were dying."

Ruth scoffed at this, shaking her head. She balled her handkerchief up in her bony hand and nearly glared at her daughter. "Hah! Albertson's words, as well? I've always told Nathaniel that our butler was much too chatty."

Rose didn't break the tense eye contact with her mother. "You weren't ever going to call me, were you?"

"And why would I interrupt your life for this?" Ruth asked, holding her palms outwards.

Rose was quiet for a moment, her face apprehensive. She listened to the fire cackle and roar beside her as she watched the light of the flames dance across the side of her mother's face. She couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. She took in a curt breath, straightening up on the couch. She spoke quietly. "You didn't think it would be important to tell me you're gravely ill?" Rose shook her head, nearly in disbelief. "You're _dying_ and you couldn't be bothered to tell your only daughter?"

Ruth reached for the table again, grabbing hold of an ivory stick. She then placed a cigarette in the end and lit it. Rose watched her, stunned to see she was smoking, and also shocked she would in her current state. Upon further inspection, Rose recognized the extension to be her's. Her mother had taken it away from her during lunch aboard the _Titanic. _Rose was amazed to discover it had survived. Ruth took her time exhaling a plume of smoke around her head. "You've always been so eager to get away from me. The moment you broke free in 1912, it's like you never wanted to look back. Why does this occassion make any difference, Rose?"

"You really see no problem with not telling your daughter you're dying?" Rose asked, tilting her head down.

Ruth pursed her lips. "You're getting much too emotional about this, Rose. It's not a big deal. I thought you would have been over the moon to hear. No more forcing. No more exasperated visits. No more of me hounding you about Charles."

Rose bit down on her lip. She absolutely detested when her mother called Charlie by his full name. She simply refused to call him Charlie. It was so irksome. And it was exactly in the character of her mother. Rose gripped the edges of the couch cushion. "I have a daughter, too, that you never hounded me about. You never asked a thing of her!"

"She knows I'm not her grandmother," Ruth replied, simply put. She gently puffed at her cigaratte, delicately tapping some ash off in her ivory tray. "She was never interested in me, either. It was mutual, Rose."

Rose pushed her hair away from the frame of her face. The anxiety that had been rumbling in her stomach had grown into an angry fire, ready to consume a forest. "Valentina is as much as a family member as I am, Mother! _You're _the only grandmother she had and _you're_ the adult! You never as much as put a pinky's worth of effort into your relationship with Valentina."

"Do you see why I didn't call?" Ruth asked, tilting her nose up in the air. "All we do is bicker and fight and then bicker some more. Can't a woman die in peace?!"

Rose was so angry she could scream. She stared fiercely at her mother, utterly blown away by the turn of events in the evening. She had thought she would have discovered a withering Ruth, ailing to make amends before her final days. But she shouldn't have been surprised to meet a bitter and wrinkled Ruth instead. The massive doors of the library were flung open and Albertson appeared, pushing a silver cart with several decadent dishes on it.

"Mrs. Fischer, Mrs. Dawson, dinner is-"

"Albertson, I'm sorry," Rose said, never breaking eye contact with her mother. "I believe I will return to my room to rest. I apologize you went to the trouble of making me dinner." She now looked at the butler, her cheeks radiating. The butler was obviously blind sided again for the second time.

"Mrs. Dawson, please reconsider," Albertson said, rolling the cart towards the edge of the dip. "You declined lunch, as well. I am not pleased to hear you are also declining dinner. May I please have it taken to your room for you? It's a platter of lamb chops with mint sauce and a garden salad." Rose's stomach throbbed at the idea. She hadn't had lamb chops since _Titanic._

Rose came to her feet, throwing one last glance towards her mother. Bundled up in her quilts, smoking her cigarette, she barely even looked at Rose. She walked to the edge of the serving cart and glanced over the meal. She felt awful for the care and detail that went into making up the plates, but they simply didn't look appetizing to Rose. She reached towards the small wicker basket at the end of the cart, grabbing a dinner roll.

"This will do," She said, holding it up. "Thank you, Albertson."

Rose then turned on the balls of her feet and left, her stockings not making a sound against the dizzying marble floors.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

It was after ten o'clock. Jack was sunk down in the loveseat beside the phone in the living room. Hanging loosely in his hand over the arm of the couch was a tumbler of whiskey and coke. His head was tilted back, exhaustion washing over him. He would have to get up early for work tomorrow. He was already off to a bad start for the day. He took a long drink, staring at the shiny phone. He willed it to ring. Jack so desperately needed to hear Rose's voice.

Jack was beginning to wonder if he should call, but he worried about interrupting things. He wanted to believe deep down inside that maybe Rose and Ruth were finally having a moment. He would be lying if he said he didn't wish the women had a cordial relationship. He hated the tensity those two brought to a room with them. And it wasn't a good example to expose the children to. He drank some more, displeased to see his whiskey running low. Charlie and Valentina had been sent off to bed well over an hour and a half ago and Jack had been hunkered down on the couch with a drink the whole time.

He fleetingly glanced towards his scabs and scoffed. He went back to the dining room and shuffled through the liquor cabinet. Jack grimaced when he saw a few bottles missing, but he shook his head dismissively. Jack promptly made himself another drink. Each one, slowly but surely, had less and less Coca-Cola in it. Jack was in no mood to think condescending of Charlie's actions. He still had gotten into much less trouble than Jack had when he was a boy. He was simply thankful his son hadn't suffered a brain injury or snapped his neck. Jack sighed and lowered himself back onto the couch, returning to staring at the phone again. He refused to believe Rose wouldn't call before the day ended. He knew if he went to bed, he wouldn't make it downstairs in time to retrieve it.

"Daddy?" Jack snapped his head up and groggily looked over his shoulder to see Valentina in her nightgown with her natural hair let free. She obviously looked upset. Jack set his drink on the coffee table and gestured for Valentina.

"Come here, dumpling," He coaxed and she rushed into his arms. Jack situated her in his lap and together they laid on the couch. Gently, he raked her curls away from her face. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"No," Valentina huffed, obviously frustrated. "I didn't even get to fall asleep. Daddy, have you ever just been laying there and suddenly it felt like the weight of the entire world was on you?"

Jack's face remained composed as he thought of the countless nights he had lost sleep in his life. The past two days had been quite difficult as it was. It burdened Jack to know Valentina had been entangled in her thoughts rather than her dreams. After a moment, he finally nodded slowly. "Yeah, it happens time to time. What were you thinking about?"

"Well, at first, I was thinkin' about Charlie," Valentina explained, gazing up towards her doting father. "When I saw him at the end of the night on the Fourth... Daddy, it really scared me. I thought I was going to lose my little brother and I was just... frightened. I've never experienced losing somebody so close to me and I thought it was happening... I think it really freaked me out."

Jack adjusted the cushion behind him and sunk his head against the arm of the couch, gazing down at the small Valentina laying beside him, her legs dangling off his. He let out a long sigh, putting his head in his hand. "I was scared, too, Valentina."

"Even more scared than when you were in Europe?" Valentina arched her eyebrows.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. A lot more."

"The more I thought about it... the more I thought about Momma and Grandma," Valentina told him, folding her hands over her stomach. "What do you think happens when we die, Daddy?"

"I'm not sure, Tina," Jack shrugged. "No one does."

"But what do you _think_?" Valentina asked insistently. "People have all kinds of ideas. One of the girls at school told me that we apparently go to a place called Heaven."

"I'm not really sure. I haven't thought much about it. What do _you _think happens when we die?" Jack asked, reaching for his condensating tumbler and taking a curt sip.

"I like to think we get to live in our favorite memories," Valentina said, making Jack pause with his drink hovering in front of his lips. "Mr. Herz said that some ancient cultures referred to death as The Great Sleep. It makes me want to believe we dream, undisturbed. That sounds like resting in peace to me."

Jack smiled, putting his glass back on the coffee table. "I think you might be right, Tina."

She fidgeted with the sash of her nightgown for a moment, contemplating her next words. "Do you think Grandma will have any good memories with Momma to live in?"

It still always amazed Jack how perceptive the young Valentina was. She so easily picked up on social cues and signals. She had eyes that could see through any situation. He thought for a moment and then said, "Yeah. I bet they do. Maybe not recent ones, but I'm sure nestled somewhere in your mom's childhood, there are some good memories."

"Daddy, I don't want things to be like that for me and Momma," Valentina's big eyes met his again. "I want to talk to her really badly. I miss her so much."

Jack sank down onto the couch beside Valentina and sighed again, his eyelids heavy. "I miss her, too. It's not the same when one of us is gone, is it?"

"No offense, Daddy, but Momma is way better at tucking me in at night."

Jack laughed at this. "She's had a lot more practice than me."

"Can we please go see Momma in Pittsburgh?" Valentina asked. "I promise to be quiet and stay out of the way."

"No, we can't just go," Jack shook his head, his eyes fleetingly resting on the phone. "It's not about anyone being in the way... your mother just really needs the space right now, Tina."

Valentina was quiet for a couple beats, lost in a trail of thought. Jack let out a wide yawn, adjusting his head on the cushion beside Valentina. Her curls brushed up against his cheek. "Daddy, you don't think me and Momma will be like that when I grow up, do you?"

"Never," Jack replied without a hint of hesitation. "That's not even something you have to worry about, Valentina. Your mother and I love you very much and there's nothing you could do in this world to ever change that. I promise you."

A moment passed before Valentina's small hand snaked into his. "I love both of you very much, too, Daddy." She pressed her cheek against his chest and Jack grinned, wrapping his arms around her. It didn't take long for the father-daughter duo to drift into sleep on the couch with all the lights on in the house.

...

_July 7th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack sat at his desk with the door shut. He had a meeting in forty-five minutes and hadn't completed the agenda he was due to hand out at that time. All of his work lay forgotten on the surface of his desk. He was slouched back in his office chair, holding the picture of Rose with two flustered children in front of their beautiful new home. His eyes hovered over Rose's beaming face longingly. She hadn't called the night before. He and Valentina had slept soundly and awoke on the couch just before seven in the morning. Maggie showed up with a bright eyed and bushy tailed Max and William not too long after. Being away from Rose with no contact was bitterfully painful. The feelings of the Great War resurfaced in Jack as he faced the same desperateness to see his wife again.

A rap on his door brought him back to reality and he shook his head, raking his hair back from his face. He took a beat to mentally prepare himself to work before he called for the employee to enter. Eleanor flouted in a moment later, wearing a bright yellow sleeveless dress with a white cardigan over it. She had a cup of coffee in her hand. When she saw Jack sitting meekly at his desk, her smile pulled back a bit.

"Jack, your office door has been closed all morning!" Eleanor said, immediately bringing the coffee to Jack. He hadn't drank any that moment and decided to accept it in hopes of giving himself a kick-start. "It's so unlike you. Is everything alright?"

Jack pursed his lips for a moment, glancing towards the photo of Rose again. "I guess I'm just struggling with not having Rose around." He said, flippantly shrugging.

"I didn't know Rose was gone," Eleanor seated herself on the edge of Jack's desk, pushing her bosom out slightly. "Where has she gone?"

"Pittsburgh," Jack replied, taking a sip of coffee. He hadn't spoken to anyone in two days. It felt good to converse with someone after being a hermit since Charlie's accident. Jack was so distracted by everything in his life, he couldn't bother to think rationally, but rather, only in the moment. "Her mother is dying."

"My condolences," Eleanor said, folding her hands in her lap. "Will she be gone long?" Jack only shrugged at this question, drinking more coffee. "Do you need any help with the children?"

"No, Maggie is watching them for me," Jack told her, his eyes hovering on his coffee. Speaking outloud and openly about missing Rose evoked an unnerving stir in his body. He grew anxious at the thought as his feeling became more pronounced in front of him. He didn't notice Eleanor's moment of jealousy upon realizing she hadn't been asked to contribute to the Dawson's in hard times.

"Well..." Eleanor thought quickly on her feet. She didn't like seeing Jack so on edge. She craved to see his boisterous and confident self again. "Do _you _need any help, Jack? Can I get you anything? Do anything for you?" Jack tightened his grip on his mug as a memory of Rose caring for him in the aftermath of the Great War passed by his eyes. She had asked the same thing. He felt a tremendous weight come upon his chest in that moment.

"No," He managed to croak, focusing on getting more coffee down his throat. Jack didn't look to Eleanor. "I'm fine."

Eleanor stood now and leaned down, getting her face into his line of view. He looked almost like he wanted to cry, but his eyes remained dry. It was easy to tell he was stressed, however. "Jack, you don't look fine. You're starting to worry me," Eleanor placed her hand on his knee. "Why don't we go out to lunch? You can talk all your troubles out. It's no good for you to bottle them up inside."

Another memory crossed his mind. From when the children had had chicken pox in 1916. Jack himself had been down with a cold that November and the entire family had missed Jack's birthday. He remembered being roused one afternoon and waking to find both the children gathered up in the bed with him. He lifted his eyes to the door to see Rose standing here, a small cake she had made in her hands. She was singing gently and soon enough the children began to stir. Jack felt tears now begin to brim his vision as he recalled her bringing the treat to the bed, much to the children's delight.

"Jack," Eleanor said, snapping him away from his day dream. He looked at her, his eyes now glassy in the overhead light. "Jack, sweetheart," Eleanor said tenderly, running her hand up his arm. Jack felt goosebumps pucker across his skin and his breathing shallowed. His mind wanted to believe it was Rose touching him, but Jack wasn't a fool as to what he really saw. "It's alright. You can talk to me, Jack."

Jack saw a memory of Rose wearing a green velvet evening gown, holding a young Charlie in a crisp tuxedo. He then saw her on Christmas Eve working with Valentina to wind tinsel around the staircase railing. There she was laying in their bed, the children on either side of her, as she read to them gently while they drifted away to dreamland. And then, he saw her in her wedding dress bathed in the evening sun on the beaches of Coney Island.

"Jack, are you OK?" Eleanor's palm now rest against his cheek and his eyes snapped to her's. Eleanor's heart was thudding in her chest. She had never touched Jack so much. In the next moment, however, she was staggering back as Jack abruptly came to his feet. He slammed his coffee cup down on the desk, spilling some onto the papers, but he paid it no mind.

Flustered, Jack raked his hand through his hair. He felt like he couldn't breath. The walls were closing in on him. His head throbbed ferociously and a wave of nausea rushed over him. "I have to go," Jack told her, grabbing his cane. "Cancel all of my meetings."

"Jack! Jack, wait!" Eleanor called. "Are you coming back?"

He didn't answer, however. He was already rushing for the front door before he hit the floor right there in front of everyone.

...

_July 7th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Ruth continued to lounge in the library beside the fireplace. It was her favorite place to be. She busied herself during the day by practicing her cross-stitching, reading magazines, and playing solitaire alone. It was inching into late morning. The clock above the mantle indicated it was a quarter to eleven. Ruth had been alone all morning besides when the nurses had helped her bathe and when she had had breakfast of croissants and peach-jam biscuits. Albertson had brought her the mail and newspaper and reported on the activities of her neighbors by Ruth's request. Ruth sighed and lowered her magazine. In that moment, she saw Albertson passing by in the hallway with a tray in hand.

"Albertson! Albertson, come here!" Ruth called. He paused and eased the door open, entering the room. The tray in his hand was still cluttered in food. By the way he was holding it, Ruth could tell the tea kettle was still full as well. "Where is that tray coming from?"

Albertson shuffled his feet against the thick Persian rug beneath him. "It's from Mrs. Dawson's room. I left it for her, but she did not touch it. Do you perhaps know one of her favorite meals? I was thinking we could have that for lunch."

Ruth could almost roll her eyes. "She sounds like she's pouting. When she was younger and was upset, she wouldn't eat a thing. If she thinks starving herself is proving a point, she is not making a very valid one. Even if you make her favorite meal, Albertson, she won't touch it."

Albertson had met his match. He had been a butler for forty-two years and had worked for four very high esteemed estates. The people he served were always so willing to accept his treats and comforts. He had never met a woman like Rose Dawson, who was so easily unphased and put-off by the attentiveness of a butler. Albertson had never met someone who wasn't grateful for a butler's service. He was a professional, he reminded himself, and he was determined to have Rose adjust as well as possible. Albertson knew it couldn't be easy for her. He was not blind to the petulance of Ruth DeWitt Bukater-Fischer. It had only excaberated since Nathaniel's departure.

"Any suggestions you have will gladly be accepted," Albertson told Ruth evenly. "I only want the greatest comfort for Mrs. Dawson."

Ruth sighed and reached for her pack of cigarettes, all the while recounting back to Rose's childhood, trying to remember a random tense dinner at their house in Philadelphia. As Ruth slid the cigarette into her ivory extension, she began to realize just how little she remembered from her life in the DeWitt Bukater estate. Ruth was certain she had just blocked much of it out, as it was a dark period of her life that had consumed nearly the entirety of her lifespan. She blamed John DeWitt Bukater for the premature failure of her health. Finally, though, something came to her. A memory that had long been lost. She could see an eleven year old Rose with her long red hair. She was sitting at the kitchen island in their home with a big grin. She thought she was all alone with the maid who had fixed her late lunch. But Ruth had been lingering in the archway. Rose had been profusely thanking the maid for the meal. It had been as simple as just a peanut butter, jam, and banana sandwich.

Ruth pursed her lips and looked towards the patiently awaiting Albertson. She took her time lighting her cigarette and taking a deep inhale, the end of the cigarette lighting up like a cherry. Slowly, she exhaled, watching her butler through the thin vaneer of the smoke.

"She likes peanut butter, jam, and banana sandwiches," Ruth told him.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, Mrs. Fischer?" It was almost humourous to Ruth how foreign that sounded to the decadent and highly regarded butler.

"Peanut butter, jam, and slices of banana," Ruth repeated. "Put it between two slices of bread."

"That's... that's all?" Albertson's dark eyebrows furrowed together.

"It will take you less than five minutes to whip up," Ruth waved her hand dismissively. "Stop asking so many questions and just _try_, Albertson."

He was quiet for a few beats as he recollected himself. He then politely bowed. "Very well. Thank you kindly, Mrs. Fischer." Albertson then quietly let himself out, leaving Ruth to sigh and sink into her blankets. She tilted her head back and took a drag of her cigarette while thinking about Rose.

...

Rose had awoken that morning promptly at seven. When she had propped herself up on her elbow, she had been sorely disappointed to remember where she was. She had collapsed back onto her pillows and closed her eyes, imagining what she would be doing in Miles City. Happily making breakfast, she knew. Though Rose hadn't had to cook as a child and had absolutely no skill in the department after _Titanic, _Rose had steadily grown apt in the kitchen. Nothing delighted her more than seeing her family scrape their plates clean. She didn't even mind dishes because it brought her so much joy and thankfulness. Rose decided, as she daydreamed in bed, she would make cinnanmon rolls the first morning she was back. It was the fan favorite of the family by far.

Rose pictured Jack in the next moment and she smiled for the first time in days when she imagined his groggy face upon waking up with his hair molded in wild ways. She ached when she recalled their first kiss every morning while still tangled up in their bedsheets. After thirty extra minutes in bed, Rose decided to get up and prepare herself for the day. She took the time to dress, complete with shoes. She fluffed her hair, applied her cosmetics, and even clipped earrings on. When she exited the bathroom, though, and gazed around her large empty room, she couldn't help but feel the same inside. Rose felt mentally and physically drained just by the thought of having to face her mother. She realized now that's probably what made for a low-energy teenager back in the day.

Rose spotted the phone on the coffee table in front of the fireplace and she sighed, falling against the doorway of the bathroom. She had been so upset last night she didn't call Jack. She knew she wouldn't have been able to have a real conversation with him as she had been washed over in so many emotions. Rose knew it would only give Jack more reason to worry. But at the same time, she wondered what kind of worries plagued him by her not calling. Slowly, she lowered herself down in front of the phone, but paused, looking towards the clock. He had probably left for the office already and she cursed under her breath. She considered calling to speak with the children, but she wanted the family there as a whole, so she could laugh as they all stole the phone away from each other to get their words in.

She sighed, lowering her head. Her curls dangled before her eyes. She hated all of this. She wanted to cry, but she was sure her tear ducts were dry. Rose almost wanted to laugh. No matter what, her mother always knew how to throw a wrench into things. She could end dinner parties with one catty remark. Rose grabbed the phone and dragged it across the room, uncaring of tangling the long cord that connected it to the wall. She set the phone on her bed and laid across it, kicking her heels off. Despite being fully dressed and ready for the day, Rose didn't think she could do it.

Albertson had come by not too much later with a decadent silver platter of jam biscuits, crossionts, honey butter, and a kettle of jasmine tea. Rose had simply asked him to put it on the console table. She promptly forgot about it as she fell back into her ruminating thoughts and daydreams. She wanted, for one moment, to forget about everything presently. And she managed to succeed. Albertson had returned for the tray and Rose realized nearly two hours had passed. Albertson had protested, bringing up the missed dinner and lunch from the previous day, but Rose politely declined and sent him away. As it ticked closer to the lunch hour, Rose wondered if she could get lucky and catch Jack at home.

A knock at Rose's door drew her away from staring at her phone. After a beat, it swung open and Albertson appeared, another silver platter in hand. Rose could almost groan. He was a persistent butler. She sat up and straightened her shoulders as Albertson gingerly closed the door behind him and approached Rose.

"Mrs. Dawson," Albertson began, his hands tightening along the ornate handles of the tray. "It goes against my code as a butler to allow you to not fully partake in all the Fischer estate has to offer. I realize now, as a follower of exquisite hospitality, that you might not be used to food such as Mr. and Mrs. Fischer have. I did some research and present to you, hopefully, a lunch you can fully enjoy." He lowered the tray down to Rose's eye level and her mouth fell agape. "It's a peanut butter, jam, and banana sandwich."

So many memories flooded back to Rose. This sandwich was associated with the very few happy memories she had while a member of the DeWitt Bukater estate. Rose's entire body quaked as she stared at the sandwich. She finally recomposed herself and gingerly accepted the plate off the platter. Albertson grinned at the sight, sighing inwardly in relief.

"When you say you did research..." Rose placed the plate beside her on the bed and gazed curiously towards Albertson.

"I asked Mrs. Fischer," Albertson replied.

"Really?" Rose asked, looking back towards the sandwich as if it was a revolutionary new concept. "I had no idea my mom knew I even liked such a thing," She raised her eyes back towards Albertson. "I always figured she'd think it was absurd... or forbid me from eating it."

"I cannot guarantee that Mrs. Fischer doesn't think it's absurd," Albertson smiled politely. Rose couldn't help but smile back and she reached down for the sandwich, taking a bite into it. She realized in that moment how terrible hungry she was. She spoke to the butler with a mouthful, uncaring of being unlady-like. "Thank you, Albertson."

"I'm at your service, Mrs. Dawson," Albertson bowed politely, not at all phased by her behavior.


	30. Long Forgotten Roads

**Author's Notes: Wow, thirty chapters! I certainly didn't expect this story to get this long, but if you've read my other works, you'll realize doing things short and sweet obviously is not my style. Thank you, so far, for all the reviews and messages. I greatly appreciate you taking time to read my work. I'm hoping to be wrapping the story up in the next 5-10 chapters to complete the timeline of **_**Lacy and Stained **_**that I started writing when I was just a hopeless romantic teenager. This chapter is short but a game changer!**

Chapter Thirty

_July 7th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack burst out the front door of Dazzling People, Nature, and Art in a hurried mess. He hoped no one was following him. He felt like he was going to throw his guts up right there. He couldn't catch his breath, but still, he pushed himself to move forward and create as much distance as he could between the office and him in that moment. Jack power walked through the large plaza of shops, offices, and garages that made up the white-collared jobs of Miles City. It felt like everything was closing in around him. Every where he turned, someone was occupying a bench, and Jack desperately needed to be alone. He sharply turned into an alleyway between a mechanics shop and an embroidery shop.

Jack pressed his back against the grimey wall, letting his cane drop to the ground. He slid down a moment later, hunched over, as he raggedly breathed. Jack counted slowly, trying to even his strained breaths. His stomach tossed and turned. He was thankful he was crouched on the ground beside a trash can. He felt that at any moment, his meager breakfast was going to come hurdling up his throat. Jack pressed his palms to his sticky face and he pinched his eyes shut.

_Get a grip on yourself, _Jack thought, watching his shaky hands hover before his eyes. _What would Rose think if she saw me this way? I'd have her worried sick about me. I told her I could do this. I have to do this. I have to stay strong for her... for the family. It's only been two days. I'm acting like I'll never see her again... _Jack paused, biting down on his lips. He shifted his feet for a moment, his body still waxing and waning between hot and cold. Jack had never experienced a panic attack before and he wasn't entirely sure that's what had struck him. He couldn't grasp the concept of what an panic attack was like. Jack lowered his hands to his knees, his nostrils flared, as still he struggled to calm down.

His eyes rest on the scabs on his knuckles and he felt his breathing hitch. Jack had still be wrestling with the moral dilemma of attacking a man. He was lucky Mr. Freedman didn't press charges against him or have the police involved. Jack was terrified of telling Rose what he did, but he knew he had to. He worried it would change the way she looked at him. His deepest fear was having Rose be afraid of him. Even when Jack told himself it was one time, it only made him feel worse. The last time Jack hit somebody, and seriously injured them, was when he was twelve years old, shortly before his parent's death. Jack had faced so many internal conflictions between not wanting the family farm and not knowing if art was his identity. He had lots of aggression inside of him. His parent's death had been a wake up call and he swore to never revert to that angry, dark boy. But now, he felt like he had failed. Jack closed his eyes as another wave of regrets washed over him. His internal confliction felt like a dagger being twisted into his intestines.

Suddenly, the side door of the mechanics shop flew open and a large man in oil stained coveralls came out, kicking the door shut carelessly. He rifled in the deep pockets of his coveralls before finding his cigarettes, which he promptly lit. He wandered out into the alleyway, his skin plagued in sweat and grime. He squinted in the bright afternoon sun. Jack watched him, feeling pathetic and meek in that moment. Quickly, Jack came to his feet and grabbed his cane, acting like he was simply loitering. When he stood, his view of the mechanic became unobstructed and he felt a chill seep into his bones.

It was Mr. Freedman. His boots crunched in the alleyway as he smoked and pace, trying to relish in every moment of his break. When he turned towards Jack, he abruptly halted in his tracks, his cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. The bruises Jack had left on his face were slowly fading. The purple beneath his eyes stung Jack to his very core. He shuffled his boots for a moment and lowered the cigarette from his mouth.

"Were you waiting for me?" He asked with his thick Texan accent.

"No..." Jack shook his head, raking the hair from his face. "I was taking a break from work. I... I didn't know you worked here."

"Jack, was it?" He asked, arching his eyebrows. Jack could only manage a nod. He was expecting the man to beat him down to the ground any minute. Jack felt like he almost deserved it. The mechanic stepped towards him, however, holding his hand out. "Matthew."

Jack was caught off guard but quickly composed himself and stood up straight, pushing away from the wall. He firmly shook Matthew's hand, though it felt very foreign. "I want to say pleasure to meet you... but I guess I wouldn't use pleasant as the word to describe our first meeting."

Matthew laughed at this. It was apparent he had been a chain smoker his entire life by how wheezy his chuckles were. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his cigarettes, offering one out to Jack. Hesitantly, he took one and lit one. Matthew was still grinning as he tucked the cigarettes away. "One hell of a Fourth of July, huh?" He asked, exhaling a plume of smoke above them in the alleyway. "I don't even know how next year will compare."

Jack pursed his lips and shuffled his feet, taking a curt drag of his cigarette. Promptly, he licked his lips, "Look, Matthew... I'm, uh, really sorry. And I know sorry isn't really-"

Matthew held his hand up, shaking his head. A thin ribbon of smoke cascaded away from him. "Please don't say you're sorry. That night was a perfect twister, let me tell ya. Between what happened to your boy to me already being too many drinks in by the time you showed up, there was too much goin' on to not lose control."

"I'm usually not physical like that," Jack told him. He was saying the words he always imagined he would if he had been given this chance. "I don't like to hit people, Matthew, or make them bleed. It's really not my style. I was just... really angry."

"Hell, I would be, too," Matthew shrugged, digging a hand into his coverall pockets. "It probably didn't help I called your boy a pussy... I'm sorry 'bout that. If you had said the same, though, I probably would have taken you down, too. You just did what was right."

Jack paused for a moment and lowered his eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

Matthew took his time puffing on his cigarettes. "I'm guessin' it's about my boys, huh?"

"Charlie told me that Lawrence threw his backpack in front of his bike," Jack said, staring at Matthew now, who remained composed. "And I'm sure you're no stranger to gossip around town. Is what they're saying true, Matthew?"

Matthew inspected his withering cigarette for a moment before lifting his brown eyes to Jack's. "Yeah, they're true. We've moved eleven times in the past seven years."

"That sounds... exhausting," Jack shook his head.

Matthew let out a long sigh now. "Ever since my first born could talk, there's always been trouble. We lived in a rowdy place in Texas where the boys were growin' up. You probably haven't heard of it. Hell, it doesn't even exist anymore. It was a little town called Havana."

Jack felt goosebumps pucker all over his skin. "Are you from Havana?"

"No," Matthew replied, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. "My wife is, though. That's where she grew up. I'm from San Antonio. I moved to Havana to work in the coal mines. There was always somethin' off about that town. I had lived in Texas my whole life but had never seen such radicalized views before. I mean, you hear racist things all over Texas, I dunno if you've been there, but Havana was a different story."

"So, how did you meet your wife?" Jack asked, keenly interested in his story.

Matthew laughed at this question. "The coal miners were quite respected in that little town. It was the bread and butter of their economy. But Havana was mainly governed by one sole family. They were the richest and had this large house on a hill that overlooked the whole place," Jack felt a chill creeping up his spine. "That family hosted the coal miners a dinnerparty in 1906 and that's where I met Sheila. She was one of the daughters of that family."

"Wow," Jack forced a smile. "Pretty lucky a guy like you would get to meet a girl like that, huh?"

"Yeah, you could call it luck at the time," Matthew shrugged. "I don't know if you've ever dealt with rich in-law's before, but when you're not as worthy as them, they treat you no better than dogshit on their Italian loafers." Jack nodded, knowing all about that. "They were super controlling and demanding. I had to knock Sheila up pretty much right away. And their house was giant, like a maze. I was always gettin' lost in that damn place."

"So, what happened to Havana?" Jack asked. "You said it didn't exist anymore?"

Matthew sighed, tilting his head up for a moment. "It was a real tragedy. I know eight years later, Sheila still hasn't gotten over it. I'm pretty sure that's the incident that fucked my boys up. There was a rich family livin' in Waco. Not a far stretch. I'm sure Waco had grown over Havana at this point," Matthew shook his head dismissively. "Anyway, Sheila's family, the Lawson's, had trade and deal agreements with this other family, the McArthur's. Just the typical stuff. Grains, sugars, raw materials, slaves. Things of that sort. Well, one day, my father-in-law ups and quits givin' them slaves. Claims he wants more 'cause he was gonna expand his property or somethin' like that. The McArthur's tried to barter with him, but goddamn, he was so stubborn. The McArthur's showed up like bandits, began shootin' the town up, torchin' all the buildings. They were just killing people for being there. No rhyme or reason, white or black. They were all bein' gunned down." Matthew had to take a breath, pursing his lips.

"You don't have to talk about it," Jack told him. "I'm sorry."

"No, no," Matthew told him insistently. "I should tell somebody, Jack. I'm tired of movin'. I'm tired of facing all the criticism, changin' jobs all the time. Maybe if someone really knew what happened, we could have a chance to finally make things right."

In that moment, Jack respected Matthew Freedman when only hours before, he had had a sour taste in his mouth at the thought of him. "Well, then," Jack shrugged. "What happened?"

"They basically destroyed the town before they began chargin' onto our property. I know we should have been down there helpin' our neighbors out, but we had just enough time to get all the women and children out of the house. There was a wide field behind the house and we had a wagon all loaded up. As many as of us could fit got in. Hell, Lawrence was maybe only four or five at that time," Matthew shook his head. "Majority of the in-law's stayed back... y'know, to protect the property. But when we went back the next mornin', the whole town was ashes. And that house we all lived in, well... it's like it was never there. We lost our home. Sheila grew so bitter and aggressive afterwards. And it's rubbed off on the boys. I wish things were different, but losing our home was really damagin' to us."

"Y'know..." Jack took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "I visited Havana once. In 1912."

"No kiddin'," Matthew laughed at this. "What'd ya think?"

"Well... some coal miner were committing hate crimes and burning the place down, so," Jack shrugged, pressing weight into his cane.

Matthew arched his eyebrows at this. "Just so you know, I had nothin' to do with that. Those coal miners were radicals. It seemed pretty counterproductive to me to burn down our own town. San Antonio is much classier, take it from me. We got the Alamo. After 1910, things in Havana only got progressively worse. Things went down even faster after 1912, when Sheila's half-niece went missing."

"Half-niece?" Jack furrowed his brow.

"If you've been to Havana, you probably remember it had a large population of black people, mostly who would be in servitude for the rest of their life," Matthew replied. "The Lawson's house had dozens and dozens of black servants, but one was very special to the Lawson's. My father-in-law had an affair with a black woman and it absolutely crushed his wife. She became pregnant and after she gave birth, my mother-in-law had her slashed to death. She was partial to the child, however, and agreed to raise her as one of the children. Probably to save some face," Matthew shrugged. "Her name was Charlotte and my father-in-law loved and protected her greatly. Sheila was close to her. It was only black woman I saw that she didn't insult. The family always believed nobody was ever special enough for Charlotte, so when she wound up pregnant, the family let the father die in a raid, refused to protect him despite Charlotte's pleas. Charlotte had a daughter named Valentina. She was also special to Shelia. But she disappeared in a raid one night. It hurt Shelia deeply. Because after that, Charlotte was so lost without her child, and when the final stand-off happened... she didn't even attempt to leave Havana. She just stayed behind."

Jack was astounded. He was speechless. He was breathless. He realized in that moment how truly a small world it was. The Freedman's had _known _Valentina. They had held her as a baby. They had been there the day she was born... and she had meant something to them. Jack shuddered at the very thought. He looked at Matthew as if he had seen a ghost.

Matthew put both his hands in his pockets now and adjusted the weight between his boots. "Listen, I know that was a lot to take in. We've only just met and I've dumped our entire life story on you in some dingy alleyway... I felt like I had to say something. We got off on the wrong foot, Jack. And I know my wife disrespected your family in your own home... She's a good woman, I promise. Sheila's just..." Matthew paused for a moment, searching for his words. "She's damanged. That's all. Our entire family is."

Jack shook himself back to reality, still reeling from what he had been told. "Well..." He said, blinking rapidly for a moment. "It's good to hear your side of the story, at least."

"I gotta get back to work. But... maybe we can have a beer one day, Jack," Matthew told him. "I like Miles City. I'm feelin' hopeful we might have a chance here."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, we should take a chance to catch a drink sometime."

Matthew smiled. "Well... I'll see you around then, Jack. And I'll be sure Lawrence stays away from Charlie. That reminds me- how's he doin'?"

"A couple stitches and a broken arm," Jack told him. "He'll live."

Matthew felt like a rejuvenated man after entrusting Jack with his words. He felt comforted by Jack and longed, in that moment, for a companionship with him. He was tired of packing his house up, time and time again, and headed off into uncharted territory. He craved familiarity, a grounded foundation, similar to what he had had a decade ago before everything went awry. He pat Jack on the arm in a friendly manner. "I'll see you around." And with that, he turned around and went back to the garage, closing the door quietly behind him.

The second the door clicked back into the threshold, Jack fell against the wall again, exhaling heavily. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest. He was still in utter disbelief. How would Sheila feel if she had known that little girl she had called a negro was actually her long lost half-neice? Valentina actually had _family _living in Miles City. Even if was only mixed blood, it was something. Jack ran his hands through his hair.

_I gotta call Rose._


	31. A Bend in the Path

Chapter Thirty-One

_July 7th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After Rose had finished eating her peanut butter, jam, and banana sandwich, she was beginning to feel a lot better. She glanced out the windows at the beautiful summer day it was shaping up to be. Rose certainly was glad her mother had kept the large oak trees surrounding her house. Watching the leaves sway in the warm gusts of air put her at ease. Rose decided to make an appearance downstairs. At least to say she tried. She would call Jack that evening when she could be sure he was actually home. Knowing him, he'd work straight through his work break without her being there.

Rose's heels met the marble staircase and it echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the elaborate entry foyer. Rose stopped to look at the statue built into the wall beside the tall grandiose oak doors, accented in carvings of ivy vines around a trellis. The statue was of a small angel-girl. Her thin arm was extended and resting in her palm was a small bird. To Rose, it looked like a dove.

"Ah, Mrs. Dawson, it pleases me to see you out of your room!"

Rose wasn't startled this time. She recognized the friendly stoic voice of Albertson. Rose looked over her shoulder at him, mustering up a small grin. Albertson stood at attention, his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

"I see you still haven't run out of things to look at," Albertson grinned and came to stand beside Rose. Together, they gazed at the elaborate work. "Mr. Fischer is a lover of birds. They've captured his attention since his youth."

"Albertson, how long have you worked for Nathaniel?" Rose tilted her head to look at the tall man. He seemed hesitant to answer at first, as if he was uncertain whether to talk about himself. Albertson licked his lips.

"I used to work for Mr. Fischer's father. His name was Marcus and he meant a great deal to me," Albertson told Rose evenly. "I served Marcus and his family for twenty-three years. It was the longest I had stayed at any estate and it was the happiest I had been. When Marcus passed away in 1893, I worked for another family for a short time period. A rather meticulous family. The wife insisted the base of all her fixtures be swapped in cotton and oil, it was ludicrous," Albertson scrunched his nose up. "When Nathaniel had finally made his own way in life with his business, he called for me, and I left without hesitation. I've been here since 1903."

"Are you as happy working for Nathaniel as you were Marcus?" Rose asked.

Albertson straightened his shoulders. "I see little bits and pieces of Marcus inside of Nathaniel. He has his father's smile and his eyes. That brings me joy. But nothing will ever replace my best friend."

Rose reached out and tenderly gripped Albertson's arm. "Thank you, Albertson. For everything you've done. I can't imagine my mother ever made your job easy, but you never lost your empathy for her. I greatly appreciate it."

Albertson bowed on command. "I'm at your service, Mrs. Dawson." When he straightened up, he couldn't help but smile again, but quickly, he recomposed his face. "I'm having the maids assemble Mrs. Fischer's wheelchair. She would like to go for a spin in the garden. Would you like to accompany her?"

"Of course," Rose nodded. "I'm sure she's impatient to see me, anyway."

"Right this way, Mrs. Dawson," Albertson gestured towards the archway leading towards the back hallway of the house. Together, the two set off to find Ruth.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

Jack returned to the office nearly three hours later. He felt many eyes on the side of his face. He walked stiffly towards his office, carefully winding around desks and being mindful not to knock cups of pencils or picture frames to the ground. As his office door came into view, so did Eleanor's desk, which was situated right beside his door. Eleanor was busy paper clipping files together and pressing stamps over other pieces of paper. She double took when she saw Jack and immediately leapt to her feet.

"Oh, Jack, thank goodness you're back," Eleanor said, opening the door in anticipation of his speed. Jack strode through the threshold and Eleanor closed the door behind them, shutting out the droning noises of the office. Eleanor clapsed her hands together in front of her. "You had me so worried, Jack. You weren't acting like yourself earlier. Is everything alright?"

Jack stood facing his large desk, full of all kinds of papers and things awaiting his attention. His back was to Eleanor. He worried she could see how tense he was. "I'm fine..." Jack told her, his voice somewhat scratchy. "I'm sorry about earlier, Eleanor." Jack turned towards her now, nearly sheepishly. "I shouldn't have just barged out like that. I've... I've never done that before. And I put you in the hot plate of having to cancel meetings last minute. That wasn't fair to you."

"It's not a big deal," Eleanor shook her head, her brown curls bobbing. "Everyone was very understanding. I'm more concerned about you, Jack. What happened earlier?"

Jack pursed his lips and gripped his cane tightly. He felt a pressure mounting in his chest again. "I don't know. I... I panicked."

"Panicked about what?" Eleanor asked, knitting her eyebrows together. "Did something make you uncomfortable? Did I... overbook your day?"

"No, no," Jack shook his head. "It wasn't anything you did, Eleanor. I just... I'm overwhelmed right now. And it's more of a personal problem rather than a professional one. You know what happened to my son and with Rose being gone... I'm just feeling lost and confused and lonely right now. It... it probably wasn't a good idea to come into the office today and commit to all those meetings." He raked his hand through his air, feeling flustered. "Again, I'm just sorry. I've been a really bad boss today."

"Oh, Jack," Eleanor managed to grin light-heartedly and she took a step towards him. "Nobody can be perfect every day. We're human and we have our limits. I really appreciate the fact you feel like you can tell me things. I hate for you to think you're alone during this time. You'll always have me, Jack. I know how it feels, it's absolutely gutting, and I don't want you to feel that way."

"You have a lot on your plate here in the office," Jack told her. "It's also not in your job description to be my therapist. It's not a burden for you to shoulder."

"Jack, I'm more than your receptionist and secretary, aren't I?" Eleanor asked, seemingly hurt. "I'd like to think we're friends. You see me as more than just your employee, right?"

"Yeah..." Jack nodded slowly. "We're friends, Eleanor."

"Then let me do what friends do," Eleanor said, reaching for his hand and gripping it tenderly. "Friends don't let other friends hurt in silence, Jack. I can't stand idly by and not give you any comfort. It would be wrong. And it won't do you any good to suffer like this."

Jack's heart beat ferociously in his chest and he felt his cheeks grow warm at the touch of Eleanor's hand to his. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was Rose touching him again. It made him ache to feel her soft silky skin. It's all he dreamt about, anyway.

"I promise everything will be alright," Eleanor told him gently with a big smile. She then reached forward and wrapped her arms around Jack, pressing her cheek to his chest. Jack paused for a moment before he wrapped an arm around her, too. Jack had always been a people's person. He couldn't lie that it felt nice to have human contact, but still, his mind was plagued only in thoughts of Rose. In his arms, however, Eleanor was already imagining a grand adventure with Jack, becoming intoxicated on his aroma alone. It was the first time she had truly hugged him and she was relishing in it. They parted and Eleanor was nearly over the moon. "All your meetings for today and tomorrow are cancelled. But there are some important papers I need you to sign before you leave today."

Jack finally smiled weakly, making Eleanor's heart leap. "Sure, yeah..." He nodded, glancing towards his messy desk. "I should get some work done today. Can you send Williamson to my office, please? I'll need his signature on a few if they are what I think they are."

"Certainly," Eleanor told him, already turning for the door. She knew she'd be light as a feather for the rest of the day. She had found her weak spot to nudge in. And she was so happy.

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The large garden with its tall blooming hedges was nearly like a maze to Rose. She walked quietly beside her mother in her wheelchair with Albertson steering. Ruth had a plaid fleece blanket bundled up in her lap and despite being outside in a fragrant and colorful garden, she didn't look quite pleased. The overhead sunlight accentuated Ruth's age and fatigue. Her waning health had taken a great toll on her appearance. She was bony and small. Rose was certain if she tipped over, she'd shatter into a million pieces like a glass vase. The trio took a turn in the garden, heading down a pathway surrounded by tulips and daffodils.

"Albertson," Ruth's sharp voice rose. "I thought I asked somebody to grease the wheels on this damned thing. It's so loud and embarrassing!"

"Yes, Mrs. Fischer," Albertson nodded, not at all phased by her irritated attitude. "I'll be sure to have it greased and polished tonight."

"Have a maid stitch me a new pillow as well," Ruth said. "The one I have is no longer in season. I want something that speaks more to summer time rather than spring."

"Yes, Mrs. Fischer."

The group continued in silence, following the narrow paths that snaked around the large and impressive garden. Flowers of all kinds, even ones not native to the area, sprouted and grew wildly and vibrantly. The garden was well-tended, too, not a single weed to be found. In the center of the garden was a large oak tree with a thick trunk. It waved in the gusts of summer air, some vines dangling from its massive limbs.

"Albertson, have you gone to the market to collect the items for the dinner I would like to host tomorrow evening?" Ruth asked, reaching into the bundle of her blanket and lighting herself a cigarette. "You do remember what I requested, right?" She arched her eyebrows, looking towards Albertson behind her plume of smoke.

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Fischer," Albertson replied, carefully steering the wheel chair around a corner. "I took diligent notes. I shall not forget the wedge of cheese."

"And the butcher had the cut of lamb I wanted?"

"Yes, Mrs. Fischer," Albertson confirmed. "I phoned him yesterday morning."

"And the pesto, you're making sure to buy it from Kreemer's Italian Market, not from that fool who uses butter in their pesto over on March Avenue, right?" Ruth asked, carelessly tapping ash off into a flower bed they were walking by.

"Yes, Mrs. Fischer. I had them prepare two jars in advance for the dinner."

"Did you get the cream soda I requested?" Ruth asked. "That's the most important part, Albertson."

"I assure you, Mrs. Fischer, everything shall be in order come tomorrow evening," Albertson said evenly and politely, ducking his head beneath a low hanging branch over the pathway.

"Why are we having such an elaborate dinner?" Rose asked, glancing towards a white tulip.

"Madeleine and the boys will be here tomorrow," Ruth replied, taking another drag from her cigarette. "I would like to have a nice dinner to welcome them. I never get to use that dining room anymore."

"Oh," Rose replied simply, directing her eyes forward. Ruth had never gone to so much trouble when the Dawson's had come for a stay. She hadn't bothered to have a sugary drink ready in the ice chest for the kids. She never bothered to buy ingredients the family would have preferred. Last time they had stayed, Charlie had pitched a fit because he refused to eat liver for dinner. Rose didn't blame him.

Ruth stared at the side of Rose's face for a moment before lifting her head to Albertson. "Leave the rest of the walk to Rose and I, Albertson. She can push."

"As you wish, Mrs. Fischer," Albertson stepped back from the wheelchair before he bowed and left the women alone. Rose stared after where Albertson had disappeared before Ruth cleared her throat, pulling Rose's attention back to her. Stiffly, like a robot, Rose stepped behind Ruth and with shaky hands, gripped the wheelchair. Slowly, she eased her mother forward.

Ruth tossed her cigarette into a nearby bed and folded her bony hands in her lap. "I know you aren't particularly fond of Madeleine..."

"Oh, Mother, don't," Rose shook her head. "I have nothing against Madeleine."

"Stop acting so polite," Ruth said. "I know you don't like her."

"We're just very different people, that's all."

"That's an understatement," Ruth scoffed. "I won't lie. That girl has made foolish, foolish mistakes in the past few years. She has made choices I don't entirely agree with. I only thought to have this conversation with you because I can only imagined you had the wrong impression when we were planning that wedding all those years ago."

"And what wrong impression was that?" Rose arched her eyebrows, steering her mother around a bend in the path. She lifted her eyes to look at the vines dangling from the overhead branches of the large and impressive oak tree.

"You must have seen her as my replacement daughter."

Rose didn't want to admit that Ruth was right. It was over ten years ago, however, and the feelings now eluded Rose, rendered useless in her day-to-day life. Ruth and Rose had always had a turbulent relationship, fraught with tiring and petulant little nitpicky battles. Madeleine coming along didn't even cause a ripple in the pool. It simply no longer mattered to Rose.

"Mother, that was a long time ago," Rose said, letting out a sigh as the wheelchair creaked down the path along the back of the property. They walked between the shade of the trees above. "Anything that happened that long ago doesn't really matter anymore."

"Hmph, I guess we shall see in your actions when Madeleine and the boys arrive," Ruth worked on lighting herself another cigarette. Rose craved one in that moment, but refrained from asking for one. "When you get to be my age, you realize a decade is not very long at all."

"So, Madeleine has had more children?" Rose asked, trying to keep their banter friendly. It was like diffusing a bomb to have a civil conversation with her mother.

"Yes, yes," Ruth nodded, smoke trailing behind the duo. "Of course, you remember Jacob. She now also has William and John. Lovely boys."

"Wow, three boys," Rose said. "That sounds like a handful."

"You know," Ruth tilted her head up towards Rose. "I've always wondered why you and Jack never had more children?" The way Ruth said his name, it was almost as if it was a drink that didn't quite go down right. His name sounded foreign in her mouth, no matter how many times she said it.

Rose thought back on the years following Charlie's birth. She and Jack had talked about it many times. Valentina was a model baby. She slept through whole nights, wasn't fussy to take a bottle, and she was a mild mannered and quiet baby. Charlie had been a bit more work. He cried like clockwork at three in the morning and was feisty at feeding time. He was prone to running low-grade fevers as a child, as well. Between Jack and Rose, they had made a great team raising two rambunctious children under the age of five, and they had always seriously considered having the family grow. (Though Jack would argue, "But not as big as Mark's family!") However, it had simply never happened again. Jack and Rose had been their usual reckless selves in bed, making love like passionate school children who were not supposed to be together. Rose had never fallen pregnant, though. In 1915, when Jack and Rose had truly considered having a third child, she had visited a few doctor's. Rose was healthy but all the doctor's could do was scratch their head. Many told Rose that Charlie would be the only baby she would successfully give birth to. And they were right, because it never happened again.

"Charlie and Valentina are plenty," Rose finally replied, snapping back to present time. "Our little family is fine exactly as it is."

Ruth scoffed, her wiry shoulders bouncing. Slowly, she exhaled some smoke through her nostrils. "You sound like me thirty years ago."

"What do you mean?" Rose knitted her eyebrows together as they weaved through the garden. It was growing warmer as it waned into late afternoon.

"I should have guessed I cursed you with my own genetics," Ruth said, looking over her shoulder at Rose. "You were only able to get pregnant once, weren't you?" Rose pursed her lips and slowly came to a stop beneath some shade. She gripped the rests of her mother's wheelchair tightly. "Didn't you ever wonder why you had no siblings? Did you think your father was actually happy he had only a daughter?"

"I knew he was unhappy with me," Rose replied cooly. "As a child, I always wondered what I had done. I know today it was all simply because I was born."

"Well, you got lucky," Ruth said, watching her cigarette wither away. "At least your only pregnancy produced a boy."

Rose pursed her lips again. "I was lucky to have a healthy baby. It didn't matter it was a boy."

Ruth sighed, tossing her cigarette to the ground now. "Take me inside. It's hot."

...

The sky had grown into a mixture of oranges, pinks, and blues as a beautiful dusk began to set across Pittsburgh. Rose stood out on the balcony of her room, relishing in the last few warm rays of sunlight on her skin. She tilted her head up, her eyes following the beginning outline of a belt of stars. She turned on the balls of her stocking feet and quietly crossed to the sitting area of the room. Albertson had gotten a fire running for her before she had returned to her room. Despite it being summer, the warmth of the fire felt nice to Rose as she sank down on the couch. She reached for the phone, spoke with the operator, and found herself clinging to each ring. Surely, she thought, someone would answer. The house barely ever received calls, so when its brassy tone rang out, the entire family was drawn towards it in curious ways.

"Hello?" Came a velvety voice from the other side. Rose felt herself become mush at the sound of it. It made her ooze love from every pore in her skin.

"Hey, Jack," She replied, her cheeks growing warm and a grin spreading across her face. "It's me."


	32. Connection Through the Wires

Chapter Thirty-Two

_July 7th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The phone rang, drawing Jack away from serving Valentina and Charlie dinner. Maggie had prepared a meatloaf for them since that's what her family was having for dinner as well. Jack slung a dish towel over his shoulder and hurried into the living room. The scraping of silverware could be heard as the children started to eat dinner.

"Hello?" Jack said as he brought the receiver to his ear.

"Hey, Jack," Came a voice that made his heart thud like a school boy. His body became warm at the very sound of the voice. "It's me."

Relieved, Jack sunk onto the couch, dragging the phone closer to him by the cord. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and sighed, tilting his head back against the couch cushions. "You have no idea how good it is to hear from you."

"I'm sorry I took so long to call," Rose said from the other end. "Things have been... hectic since I've arrived."

"I imagine that's an understatement," Jack said, resting his head in his hand. He was relishing in every note of her sweet voice. The only thing that was missing was her slender curvy body in his arms. "How's Ruth?"

"Well, she certainly hasn't changed," Rose replied. Distantly, Jack could hear the cackling of a fire. He imagined she was staying in that gaudy elaborate guest room that was the size of the entire first floor of their house. He hoped she didn't feel lonely, but feared the large empty space made her feel as vulnerable as he had when he had stayed there. "Dying still does not take precedence over appearances, that's for sure."

"Did you have a good day?" Jack asked, using the mirror on the wall to gaze at the kids. Valentina was daintily cutting her meatloaf while Charlie took a massive gulp from his cup of milk. Jack had had to cut his meat, to his dismay, since the cast made it too difficult.

"Nothing interesting happened over here," Rose replied. He heard her shifting around on the couch she was seated on. "What about up there? How are the kids? How was your day?"

"The kids are doin' just fine," Jack said, readjusting his feet on the table. "They miss you, that's for sure. They're having dinner right now."

"Oh, what did Mr. Artiste make for dinner?" He could tell a grin was smothered across her face.

"Well, _I _didn't make anything."

"Please don't tell me you're spoiling the children with food from the diners being brought home!"

"No, of course not, I know you'd never approve," Jack laughed at this, tilting his head back. "Maggie's watchin' the kids during the day for me, so she takes some time to prep dinner before she goes home in the evening."

"Wow, that was really kind of Maggie," Rose said. "You're paying her, right?"

"It was hard to convince her, but yes," Jack nodded. "Hey, also, I'm really glad you called. There was something I really needed to talk-"

"Is that Momma?" Valentina and Charlie appeared in the archway of the living room. Jack lowered the phone for a moment and nodded. In the next beat, Charlie and Valentina were climbing onto the couch, digging their elbows into Jack, who howled and squirmed to make room for them. "Let me talk to her, please!" Valentina reached for the phone. "Hi, Momma!"

"Hi, Tina," It was so relaxing to hear her mother's voice. Valentina sighed at the sound of it. "How was your day, baby? I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Valentina said, cradling the phone in her hands. "When are you coming home, Momma?"

"Hopefully soon," Rose replied. "But Grandma needs me right now."

"Can you convince Daddy to let us go to Pittsburgh?"

"No, honey, it's not a good time right now," Rose said, making Valentina's heart droop. "Grandma needs some space. She's not doing very well."

"I promise I'll be quiet. I won't bring my trumpet. And I'll wear slippers, so you won't hear me walking around," Valentina told her.

"I'm sorry, Tina. It won't be long before I'm home, I promise."

"My turn!" Charlie reached out, snagging the phone from Valentina, who protested before Charlie managed to pry it from her fingers. "Hi, Mom!"

"Charlie, hi, sweetheart," Rose cooed from the other end. "How's my little man feeling?"

"Mom, I'm not little," Charlie huffed, "Dad said I reached five feet a week ago! But I feel fine."

"Five feet?! Already?" Rose sounded so surprised from the other end. "Just a couple more inches and you'll be taller than I am. Your sister is already well on her way."

"Mom, will you be home before I get my cast off?" Charlie asked. "I did this really cool painting on it. Dad even mixed up some pink for me! I don't have to look out the windows for the mountains anymore. They're right here on my arm!"

"Charlie, that sounds exquisite," Rose's voice had an edge of longing in it. "I will be home before it comes off, I promise. And we can share the view together."

Charlie gripped the phone tightly, glancing fleetingly towards his sister, who was waiting impatiently for her turn with the phone again. "Mom... it's not the same when you don't tuck me in."

"I thought you said you were too old to be tucked in by your mother?"

"Well... no one has to know, right?"

Rose laughed at this. "I'll tuck you in as tight as I can when I get home, alright?"

Valentina took advantage of Charlie's distraction and quickly swiped the phone away, earning a 'hey!' from her brother. "Momma, will you read the new _Sherlock Holmes _book to me when you get home?"

"Your father brought that home over a month ago," Rose replied. "You haven't read it yet?"

"No..." Valentina shook her head. "I want you to read it with me."

"Okay, well, then I promise to read _Sherlock Holmes _with you."

It was Jack's turn to swoop in and grab the phone now. "Well, I think it's time the kids got back to dinner. No one likes cold meatloaf, right?" Charlie scrunched his nose up at the thought. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Now, both of you say goodbye and goodnight to your mother." He passed the phone back to Valentina.

"I wish we could talk all night," Valentina sighed. "Well, goodnight, Momma. Sleep tight."

"Goodnight, Valentina. I love you."

"I love you, too," She whispered before passing the phone to Charlie.

"Hey, Mom, does Mr. Albertson still live at Grandma and Papa's?"

"Yes, he does," Rose replied.

"Tell him hi for me, will you? And goodnight, Mom."

"I will," Rose's voice was warm and full of love. "Goodnight, Charlie. I love you."

"Love you, too," Charlie said. He then passed the phone back to his father and together, though hesitant, the Dawson children returned to the kitchen. Jack pressed the phone to his shoulder and waited until he heard the sound of silverware again.

"I told you," Jack grinned, putting the phone back to his ear. "They sure do miss their mom."

"It's not any easier for me," Rose sighed. He heard more shifting. It sounded like she was stretching out across a couch. "You never realize how much of a routine you've fallen into until something abruptly stops it. I can't sleep in past seven. I haven't cooked in three days and it's driving me nuts. They won't allow me into the kitchen at all, Jack. Not even to get myself a glass of water. They insist of putting a lemon wedge in it first!"

Jack laughed at the thought. "Oh, but don't you just love modern hospitality?"

"It's so obnoxious," Rose deadpanned. "It just reminds me I don't miss any of this at all, Jack. I'd much rather wash my own dishes and dust my own bookshelves. To make matters worse, Madeleine Force will be here tomorrow with her children."

"Oh, God," Jack rubbed at his face. "Why does she have to come during your stay?"

"My mother had the audacity to confront me about my feelings of her as the replacement daughter," Rose sighed. "That woman doesn't miss a beat." She cleared her throat in the next moment. "Enough woe-is-me... you said you wanted to talk to me about something."

Jack paused for a moment, looking towards the lights dangling from the slanted ceiling in the living room. "Yeah... I do. But I think it should wait. Can you call me back at ten?"

"After bed time?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "I think that'd be best."

"Is everything alright?" Rose asked from the other side.

Again, Jack waited before replying. "Yeah... everything's fine. My world was just turned upside down today. That's all."

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose had all the curtains shut. A storm was blowing in and distantly, thunder rumbled lowly. The only light illuminating her large guest suite was from the fireplace. Rose had stoked the fire and kept it roaring all evening. After her phone call with Jack, she was left to wonder what he was going to tell her. During her bath, her mind was only preoccupied with what it could be. It obviously couldn't be discussed in front of the children. There were very few things they kept tucked from their eyes and muffled from their ears. Family finances, gossip, distressing family news, and occasionally, discussions about Valentina herself. After her bath, Rose dressed herself in her silk robe and seated herself on the couch in front of the fireplace. Her damp curls tumbled down her shoulders as she curled up, hugging a pillow. The old clock on the mantle signified it was a quarter past nine.

Rose let out a yawn and thought forward to what kind of day awaited her when she woke up. She couldn't be sure what time Madeleine would make her arrival. She already knew dinner would be a nightmare. Ever since _Titanic_, Rose couldn't bring herself to eat lamb anymore. Something about the very sight of it to that day irked her. Her stomach constricted into knots at the very thought of it. A lamb chop had been in her sights that day aboard the ship for lunch. Their first full day at sea. The way Cal had treated her. Snubbing out her cigarette, choosing her meal- that dastard mint sauce he knew she hated, and speaking to her as if she was nothing. That was when things truly began to boil over for Rose. And she had hated lamb ever since.

Suddenly, Rose heard her door quietly creak open. She gasped sharply and sat up straight, her eyes as wide as saucers. From the shadows appeared Albertson, who seemed as equally surprised to see Rose. Rose relaxed when she spied the butler, falling back against the arm of the couch.

"You gave me quite a fright, Albertson," Rose told him, gently grazing her collarbone. "You could work in a haunted house."

Albertson smiled politely at this and bowed. "My apologies, Mrs. Dawson. I was coming to check on your fire. A frightful cold wind has drummed up in this storm. I wanted to be sure you were warm."

"I can take care of the fire, you don't have to worry about that," Rose said. "It's quite comfortable in here. Thank you, Albertson. You should be in bed."

"Oh, I still have a few more chores to wrap up," Albertson replied. "I shall be around if you need anything, Mrs. Dawson." With that, he curtly turned and began towards the edge of the light. Rose watched his slender figure slink into the darkness and quietly let himself out the door. A moment later, lightning flashed behind the velvet curtains, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

Rose's heart leaped at the sound, but she calmed herself down quickly. She looked to the clock again. It was nearing time to call Jack. She imagined at that moment, he was laying the children down to sleep, despite their protests for Rose's presence. She smiled when images of Charlie and Valentina came to her mind. She missed them so deeply. She wasn't whole without her family under the same roof as her.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

By the time Jack had coaxed Valentina and Charlie to bed and made himself a glass of whiskey and coke, the clock in the living room was just about to strike the top of the hour. Slowly, Jack eased himself down onto the couch and sighed, carelessly disregarding his cane against the wall. He rubbed at his knees and glanced around the dark house. The chirping of the cicadas outside were so loud, he noticed again. His thoughts were interrupted by the phone and he lunged forward to catch it mid-ring, hoping the children wouldn't hear it. They would know it's Rose.

"Hello?" He said quietly, easing back against the couch. He jerked the phone closer with a yank of the cord.

"Hey," Came Rose's voice and again, he felt at ease. He took a sip of his drink. "Are the kids in bed?"

"Yup," Jack replied. "Mission accomplished."

Rose laughed lightly at this. Jack felt his heart swell and his body become warm at the very noise. "You have me so curious as to what you wanted to talk about. I'm all ears." Distantly, beyond Rose, Jack heard a crack of thunder.

Jack sighed as he recalled the words that had been spoken to him that day. He reached for his glass and downed nearly half of it in one gulp. The whiskey stung his throat warmly. He laughed now, shaking his head. "What I'm about to tell you is so damn crazy... well, it almost makes me think someone's playing a sick joke on us."

"What happened?" Rose asked, confusion plaguing her voice.

"I... I took a break from work earlier this morning," Jack told her, feeling rather strained as he recalled the panic attack that had set in on him. Recalling his hurried blurry steps out of the office made Jack's head throb. "And I ran into Matthew Freedman."

"Did he know who you were?" Rose asked. "I wouldn't know who he was if he was standing next to me on the street."

"I had met him before this..." Jack said slowly.

"Where?"

Jack closed his eyes, setting his elbows on his knees. "Rose, what I'm about to tell you is not what I originally wanted to tell you... but it's the right thing to do and I'm really not proud. I know we said we'd just stay away from the Freedman's, but on the Fourth of July, after I found Charlie... do you remember I left the house?"

"Yes... vaguely," Rose replied, recounting the memory slowly.

"I went to the Freedman's house," Jack told her, a cold feeling seeping into his bones. "I punched Matthew over and over again until he was on the ground. And..." Jack slowly raked his hand through his hair. "I made him swear to keep Lawrence away from Charlie."

"Jack...! You... you _punched _him?" Rose nearly stumbled over her words and Jack grew ashamed of himself. "I must say, I'm really surprised to hear you did that. You're usually so good about keeping your head but... I can't say I'd react any differently in your shoes."

"What...?" Jack lifted his head, arching his eyebrows.

"Jack, we never really got to talk through what actually happened that night," Rose said from the other side. "That night was... a _nightmare. _I thought we were going to lose Charlie, Jack. I... I was so scared. I shut down. I can't imagine how you must have felt, but I think I understand. You were angry. And rightfully so. Neither of us were in our right minds that night, Jack. It's OK."

"It was still wrong," Jack insisted. "I had no business doing that, Rose."

"Well... what did Matthew do when he saw you?"

"I fully expected him to throw me to the ground and beat the shit out of me," Jack replied, taking another drink of his whiskey. "But instead... he talked to me. He's a lot more level headed than his wife. And he told me about their family."

"Why? For sympathy?" Rose asked. "To atone for nearly breaking Charlie's neck?"

"I thought the same thing at first... but the story became very interesting very quickly."

"What did he say?" Rose's voice was eager.

"The Freedman's are from Texas," Jack said, lowering his eyes to watch the condensation from his tumbler drip to the rug below. "Matthew's from San Antonio and Sheila... well, Sheila's from Havana."

"Havana?" Rose echoed.

"Sheila's the daughter of the rich family who Charlotte worked for."

"Jack, no..." Rose sighed. He could tell she was absolutely blindsided.

"But the real kicker?" Jack took a quick sip of his whiskey, trying to get through the story as well as he could. "Sheila's father had an affair with one of their slaves. Charlotte was the product of that relationship and therefore is Sheila's half-sister, who Matthew said Sheila loved very much."

"So..." Rose's voice was slow, strained, and plagued in confliction. "That means... Valentina is..."

"Yup," Jack nodded. "Valentina's her neice. Lawrence is her _cousin_. They were there, Rose, when Havana was burned to the ground. They lost their home, too. The boys have been troubled ever since then. And... they never knew what happened to Valentina. Just that she disappeared during a raid."

"Jack..." Her voice was breathless. He felt goosebumps pucker across his skin by the way she said his name. "I... I don't know what to say... or what to think. If Sheila loved her... Jack, what if Sheila tries to take Valentina away from us? She's _blood._"

"Do you really think she'd do that?" Jack furrowed his brow. "Valentina's been apart of _our _family for ten years now. She's a Dawson, through and through."

"Would it be a good idea for them to meet?" Rose asked. "Jack, we've barely told her anything about her parents. It would be too much to take it directly to Valentina and tell her that's her aunt. I still think she's too young. Like you said, she's a sensitive little girl."

"Maybe right this moment isn't a good idea," Jack shrugged. The ice cubes in his cup clanked against the edges of the glass. "All I know, Rose, is that this is a sign. It's time we spoke to Valentina and told her the all the gnitty gritty details. We need to tell her about the night we took her. She needs to see the letters from her mother. It's time, Rose. We can't keep it from her anymore. How many little girls named Valentina are livin' here in Miles City? It's a matter of time until Shelia catches wind."

"Jack, I don't want to lose Valentina to that family," Rose's voice was so fearful.

"We're not, Rose," Jack shook his head. "Charlotte _gave _Valentina to us for a reason. There was a reason why she couldn't ask her own sister to take her."

"And what reason was that?"

"I don't know," Jack sighed. "She trusted us, Rose. She knew we could give that little girl a good life and we have. She's happy. She's excelling in school, she has friends, she has hobbies and clubs. With everything that has happened to her this summer, I think it's time to tell her. And don't worry about the Freedman's. They're not going to take her, Rose, but... don't you think it'd be good closure for Sheila to know Valentina is alive and doing well? Matthew said it hurt Sheila when she disappeared. This might be good for the family."

"Do we... have to make a decision now?" Rose asked, rather meekly.

"No, of course not," Jack shook his head. "It's just... food for thought." They were quiet for a few moments. "I hadn't considered Sheila wanting to take custody of Valentina..."

"It seems we have seen the family from two different perspectives," Rose said quietly.

"No family ever has just one, right?" Jack asked.

"Right," Rose replied. Another moment of silence. "We have to do what's best for our little girl, Jack."

"There's nothing more important than that," Jack agreed.

"Then I suppose we have no choice, do we? We already know what we have to do."

Jack gazed towards the window, watching the milky moonlight shed through. "Yeah, you're right. Valentina is part of this family but we can't keep her from knowing who she truly is and where she's come from. Whether we like them or not, Rose, they're all she has left. It's her only connection to the past. And Sheila can probably tell her much more about Charlotte than we ever could."

"You're right. We can't deprive her of that," Rose said from the other side.

Jack smiled weakly. "You're a good mom, Rose. Everything will be alright, trust me."

"I trust you, Jack."


	33. A Night with the Butler

**Author's Notes: Just a quick sweet chapter for some character development before things start picking up again!**

Chapter Thirty-Three

_July 7th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After Rose had gotten off the phone with Jack, she found herself lost in a trance, her eyes hovering on the roaring fire in front of her. Outside, the storm had picked up full force and the drawn curtains couldn't keep all the strikes of lightning out. A clap of thunder startled Rose and she perked up straight, gazing around large and foreign room. She felt immensely alone in that moment and craved to hear Jack's voice again for comfort. She hugged herself as he recalled his words.

Rose was off-put by Sheila, but she dug deep into the one interaction she had with her, scrutinizing every detail. Rose attempted to sympathize. It was hard being the new girl on the block. And Rose considered it didn't get any easier for Shelia as she found herself as part of a nomadic family, trudging in the ashes of their past. Rose could relate in many ways. Though she hadn't been there for the most terrifying final stand-off, Rose had been damaged by Havana in many ways. Her memories of black people being tortured, burned, whipped, and dragged behind horses rippled through her mind and she had spent many years locking those thoughts away, never to be uncovered. It had shaped the very mother-figure she aspired to be. Rose had lost her wedding ring that night. And Jack had received a glaring bruise in his lower back from the butt of a rifle. The only good thing to come of that night was receiving their angel, Valentina. Rose was conflicted, however.

Sheila had been so cruel to Valentina. How could she have, at one point, loved her as Matthew had said? How could Charlotte have been her dear sister, but had allowed the love of her life to die right in front of her eyes? Rose was worried about bringing Valentina to Sheila's eyes. What if she wanted Valentina back? What if Sheila thought Jack and Rose were actually guilty of kidnapping? Rose knew telling Valentina was the right thing to do, but still, Rose was concerned. She knew the day would come and Jack was right. It was a pivotal time for that sensitive little girl. Valentina had come to realize a lot over the summer. Rose had watched her daughter's worldly view expand and it was growing much faster than the hurried mother could keep up with.

Another crack of thunder drew Rose from her thoughts and again, the large empty room announced it's presence to her. Quietly in her slippers, Rose crossed to the nearest window, drawing the velvet curtains back. Outside, the wind howled ferociously and the trees were bent in the gusts. Leaves, tree branches, and debris swept around. The rain was coming down fiercly in sheets, pelting the earth. The storm somewhat comforted Rose. In a way, it was as if the state of her mind had come alive and was releasing itself down onto Pittsburgh. She knew wasn't going to get much sleep that night. Rose glanced to the clock perched above the mantle on the fireplace. It was a quarter to midnight.

Quietly, Rose slipped into the hallway, leaving her bedroom door ajar. The light of her fireplace gave her the first guiding steps down the long corridor. With the thunder and lightning rumbling overhead, the mansion gave Rose the heebie-jeebies. Coat racks, busts, and paintings with wicked shadows irked out from the darkness towards Rose. Steadily, she made it to the front foyer where the wall-length windows had lightning pouring through across the freshly polished marble floors. The panes pattered loudly as the buckets of rain came down relentlessly. Carefully, she descended the stairs and began towards one of the few rooms she was familiar with. In the dining room, in the far left hand corner upon entering, was a door that was rather obscured from first glance. Nathaniel had proudly taken Rose down to boast and, she had to admit, she was impressed.

Gingerly, she pushed the door open and ducked, remembering the slanted ceiling. The wooden staircase beneath her creaked as she felt along the raw exposed cobblestone wall, leading down into the rather damp cellar. When she reached the base of the stairs, she blindly reached out until she felt a cord dangling from the roof. She gave it a good tug and the cellar became dimly illuminated in a yellow glare. Rose gazed around the still and quiet room. The thunder wasn't nearly as loud down there. She walked along the shelves, taking the time to inspect a few bottles. Nathaniel had an impressive wine collection and Rose was certain he wouldn't notice a few missing. She found a bottle of Moscato imported from France and decided it was the one. She turned the light off behind her and ventured back to the dining room, shutting the door behind her.

When Rose turned towards the door, she let out a yelp of surprise, nearly dropping her stolen good from her hand. Albertson was at the fireplace, a bucket of water dangling at his side. The coals in the fireplace sizzled and hiss. The tall french windows of the dining room allowed the storm to light the room up instead.

"Goodness, Albertson!" Rose cried, the blood in her veins throbbing. "I swear, you're going to give me a heart attack!"

Albertson bowed in acknowledgement of her presence. "My apologies, again, Mrs. Dawson. Marcus always said I was as quiet as a cat. Perhaps I should attack a bell to my jacket?"

Rose lowered the bottle of wine to her side now. "No, I certainly wouldn't want to treat you like a cat, Albertson." She paused as a grumble of thunder passed by. "You're still up doing chores? At this point, you'll barely have a few hours of sleep."

"That's quite alright," Albertson shook his head modestly. "I'm used to it." He cocked an eyebrow up. "I'm guessing you can't sleep, either? I suppose I could gather as much finding you in the wine cellar at midnight."

Rose felt herself blush madly and she twisted the bottle in her hand, shrugging sheepishly. "You don't think Nathaniel will mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Albertson grinned. "He shall return with plenty more from Europe. We need to make space. Not another shelf will fit down there."

"Albertson..." Rose said slowly. "Would you maybe like to... have a glass with me?"

Albertson was surprised and he straightened his shoulders. "It wouldn't be right of me."

"I think everything is in order for the night," Rose gazed around the room, shrugging again. "You shouldn't have to polish door handles at midnight, Albertson. Please, I insist. As a follower of hospitality, it would be the most hospitible."

It took a moment for the Butler to grin. He shuffled his feet back and forth for a moment. "A glass of wine does sound nice, Mrs. Dawson."

"New rule," Rose smiled. She crossed to Albertson and took the bucket from his hand, carelessly disregarding it on the fireplace sill. The handle clattered loudly against the tin. "I want you to call me Rose."

"Oh, Mrs. Dawson, that's not-"

"Rose."

"Mrs. Dawson, as the-"

"Rose."

Albertson sighed, his smile never faltering. "Yes... Rose."

Rose smiled, "Will you fetch two wine glasses? I'll meet you back in my suite."

"Yes, of course," Albertson nodded. With his long legs, he began towards the door against the far right wall. It was a narrow hallway built exclusively for the help to sneak between rooms without hogging up the corridor. Rose called after him, making him stop in his tracks.

"Thank you, Albertson," Rose said, her grip tightening on the bottle of wine. "It means a lot to me."

"I'm at your service, Mrs-" He paused and cleared his throat. "Rose." She smiled and with that, he let himself through the door.

...

It didn't take long for Albertson to return to Rose's room with the shiny crystal wine glasses in hand. Eager for the company, Rose poured the wine despite Albertson's protests. They sat on their own couch facing each other, the bottle of wine glinting in the roaring fire beside them. They were both quiet, taking their drink of wine and relishing in the day being over, though the next was only due to begin in the five hours.

"I must thank you for inviting me to have a glass of wine," Albertson said, tilting his glass towards her. "This feels... nice."

Rose curled her legs up beneath her. Outside, the storm continued without losing pace. "How often do you get to sit down and enjoy a glass?"

"Things are so busy nowadays," Albertson absent-mindedly swirled his wine around in his glass. "It's not very often anymore. The help of the house has been greatly reduced since Mrs. Fischer's health began to fail. There's so much more to be done now to keep to her standards."

Rose took a curt sip of wine, licking her lips. "My mother runs a tight ship, doesn't she?"

"More than any wife Mr. Fischer has ever had," Albertson agreed. "May I ask you a personal question, Rose?"

"You don't have to be so formal," Rose told him. "You're off the clock. But yes, you may."

He calculated his words, tapping his finger against the slender stem of his glass. "Was Mrs. Fischer this distant and guarded when you were a child? She can come across as cold to many people and I always wondered... was it losing her first husband that hardened her like this?"

Rose sighed, sagging her shoulders for a moment. A small smile was present on her lips despite her body language. She set her arm on the back of the couch, cradling her head in her hand. "It was a mix of a lot things that made her into the person she is today. A perfect storm, so to speak... I've never seen her close with much of anybody. And she's always been guarded. It's simply who she is."

"It's awful to say," Albertson became still from where he sat. "But in the six years Mr. and Mrs. Fischer have been married, I haven't gotten to know Mrs. Fischer at all."

"That seems pretty normal," Rose shrugged, cradling her wine glass against her chest. "Somedays, I realize I know nothing about her either."

"Are you an only child?" Albertson asked. She could tell he was clearly interested in learning more.

"Yes, I'm an only child," Rose replied. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken to anybody about her past. With Jack, there was nothing more to say. He understood all-too-well. Rose had decided, especially when Jack was gone during war, that it did no good to dwell on the past. It only hindered the future. "The women of the DeWitt Bukater line are known for their one-time pregnancies."

"DeWitt Bukater, you say?" Albertson arched his eyebrows. "I haven't heard that name in years."

"It's officially dried up," Rose said evenly. She took a sip of wine. "Rightfully so, too... What about your family, Albertson? Where do you come from? What was your childhood like?"

Albertson grinned. "Oh, it would be rude of me to talk about myself."

"But I'm asking," Rose smiled from behind her glass of wine. "Albertson," She adjusted herself on the couch to sit criss-cross, her back straight, her shoulders squared. "I want you to forget about all the butler nonsense. I want you to take your bow tie off and allow yourself to be you." She continued to grin, her fingers gently grazing the rim of her glass. "You can probably tell I'm desperately lonely and bored here. All I would like is a normal human conversation. Please, tell me about yourself."

"Well..." Albertson cleared his throat and took a drink of wine, refilling it promptly. It was easy to tell the man hadn't been asked about himself in nearly a decade. He almost had to think of what to say, though his past was beginning to dance before his eyes again, alive and vibrant, as if it was just last week. "I was born in San Francisco," Albertson told her. "I had two older sister's, Mary and Agnes, and a younger brother named Ronald. Mary and Ronald have both since passed away, but Agnes and I remain close."

"I'm so sorry you lost them," Rose said. "My condolences."

Albertson smiled politely. It was the most genuine smile she had seen since she arrived. "Thank you but I've come to terms with life and death now. My mother died of cancer in the 1904, my father in an accident at work in 1908. Ronald passing was no surprise in 1911. He had always been quite fragile. My sister Mary stood no chance against the Spanish influenza in 1918."

"I just realized," Rose paused, her glass hovering before her lips. "I don't know your first name, Albertson."

He let out a hearty laugh and set to refilling her wine glass. Albertson adjusted the cushions around him as he fell back into place. "It's Richard."

"You look much more like an Albertson," Rose laughed, her head beginning to swim from her moscato. "What were your parents like?"

"They were just... wonderful," Albertson shook his head, at a loss of better words. "We weren't well off by any means, but my parents did everything for us."

Rose smiled at this, basking in the warmth of the fireplace. "Sounds a lot like my husband's childhood."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Dawson," Albertson sat forward, resting his elbows against his knees. "Though I've only met him but a few times, I thought he was a very nice man. He's a very involved father. You don't see a lot of that today."

Rose both ached longingly and was electrified at the thought of Jack. Her cheeks became rosy, as if she was developing a crush on him all over again like the school girl she was around him. "We make a great team. Our family means everything to us."

"Your children are beautiful," Albertson told her. "Precocious Charlie and curious little Valentina." In the next moment, tears sprung to Rose's eyes and she tenderly placed a hand to her chin. Albertson was to his feet in a moment, but Rose held her hand up to stop him.

"It's okay, Albertson. They're... happy tears," Her voice wavered for a moment but she managed to smile at him with her wet eyes. Slowly, Albertson returned to his seat, giving his wine another swish.

"I apologize, I-"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Rose insisted, tears now gliding down her cheeks and glinting in the fire. "It's just..." She sighed, shaking her head. "The root of the problem, as you could probably guess, is with my mother. Things have always been tough." Rose rubbed gingerly at her cheeks, but her tears continued. "Hearing you say my children's names... _acknowledging _them... it means the world to me, Albertson. I never expected my mother to throw a parade for them, but I don't think she completely understands the role of a grandmother. In my eyes, my children don't have one," Rose paused to take a drink of wine, pensively licking her lips. "My mother refuses to call Charlie by his nickname. It's always Charles this and Charles that... it's so... so... _pretentious_. Valentina is an entirely different story. My mother doesn't even acknowledge her existence in this family."

Albertson's eyes hovered on his wine for a moment before he tilted his head back to finish the glass. He reached for the bottle, popping the cork from the neck. "I'm assuming that is why you don't visit for long intervals of time."

"Albertson," Rose extended her wine glass out which Albertson promptly filled. "Will you be honest with me?"

"Of course, Rose," He nodded, sitting back against the cushions.

"Was it... cruel of me to not visit my mother more often?" Rose asked, slowly and hesitantly, her eyes cast down. "It looks like we're at the end of the road here with my mother. This month..." Rose shook her head. "Surely it will be her last. Do you think it was wrong of me to disregard her? Was it wrong to not take advantage of our limited time here on earth together? Even with everything that has happened..." Her eyes trailed upwards to meet Albertson's. "She was still my mother, right?"

Albertson exhaled quietly, sinking into the couch. He contemplated his words. It was a tender topic, one he had seen dozens of times before in the estates he had worked at. But he himself had never experienced a family in fraught. They were all they ever had and Albertson realized in his many years of being a butler, it was often the materialistic things that hindered family members relationships with one another. He knew about the horrible downfall of John DeWitt Bukater. Back in 1910, the tabloids talked endlessly about him. Rose and Ruth had been left in a lurch. They both had been damaged, obviously in two entirely different ways.

"I can't speak much to the moralistic aspect," Albertson began slowly. "But I can say I support one's actions in order to acheive happiness. We only get one life, Rose, and we shouldn't spend it with people who make us unhappy. And sometimes that unhappiness... that toxicity... it's in your own blood and you just have to get it out. If you were happier without visiting your mother quarterly or even annually, then I say that's fine. As long as you were happy."

"I was..." Rose nodded. "My family, the Dawson's... they complete me. I'm not whole without them, Albertson. It's the first and only real family I've ever had."

"That decisions was yours and your alone to make, Rose," Albertson told her. "If it made you happy... then own it. None of us get out alive. Everyone will meet their maker one day. It does not mean you have to tie up all of those loose ends. That's your decision, Rose."

"I choose to be here when she dies. It's only right," Rose replied, lowering her wine glass. "But don't expect me to bring a bouquet of fresh daisies to her grave."

Albertson grinned lightheartedly. "Cheers."


	34. The Replacement

Chapter Thirty-Four

_July 8th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack poured himself a cup of coffee, dumping some creamer in shortly after. As he mixed the warm and cool liquids together, he turned towards the kitchen table to look at his children. Valentina had made herself a bagel slathered in cream cheese. Charlie had opted for a bowl of cantelopes, blueberries, and raspberries. Every day, he was getting more and more adept with his cast. It was obvious it weighed the boy down significantly, but he still had eight weeks to get used to it. He had a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning. Jack was sure they were on the road to recovery.

"So, what's on everyone's agenda for today?" Jack asked, coming to stand behind the chair at the head of the table. It's where Rose would have been sitting, having herself a hurried piece of toast. "It's Wednesday, so I'm suspecting it's a library day for you, Tina."

"All the clubs are meeting today?" Charlie paused, a juicy slice of cantelope dangling from his fingers. He arched his eyebrows but stopped when the stitches on his forehead throbbed. He hoped it wouldn't be long before they could come out. "Aw man... that means Max has to go his engineering club."

"Well," Jack took a sip of his coffee. It wans't the same when Rose didn't prepare it. "I think you should go with Max and Valentina to the library. Join one of the clubs. Do _something. _Are you really going to stay here and wait around for them to get back when you could go with them and have some fun?"

"What's fun about learning?" Charlie made a face of displeasure.

"It's not just learning," Valentina grinned from behind her bagel. "We play games!"

"Come on, Charlie," Jack sagged his shoulders for a moment before drinking more of his coffee. "I want you to go. You might have more fun than you think. And besides, it will give Mrs. Maggie some down-time from watchin' all of you. How 'bout it? Please?"

Charlie huffed, poking and prodding at his fruit. "Alright... fine. But if it's boring like I said, I get to have a venting session during dinner."

Jack smiled. "All right, deal. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose awoke a quarter before seven. Despite having gone to bed well after two in the morning, her body would never allow her to sleep in again. Not as long as it was activated in mother mode. Her head throbbed dully from the entire bottle she had consumed with Albertson. Rose dressed promptly, taking the time to thoroughly wash her skin with her favorite lavendar soap. She applied her make up and pinned her bangs back from her face with some pearl clips that matched her ivory colored dress. When Rose drew the curtains back, it was as if the storm had never occured. Debris was scattered through yards and across the winding roads, but the sky was a bright cerulean blue without a cloud to be seen.

Rose had woken up hungry and craved a cup of warm coffee to stave off any impending hang over that loomed over her. She wandered down the quiet hallway and headed towards the library to see if her mother was awake. Ruth was propped up on the couch in her dark green silk nightgown. Her hair was concealed beneath a cap to keep the oils away longer. Already a cigarette was burning in her hands. Rose cleared her throat to announce her presence as she quietly padded through the archway.

Ruth turned her head towards her. Her eyes were not comforting in the least and Rose had to remind herself not to fidget. "I'm surprised to see you awake already."

"I'm used to waking up this early," Rose replied gently, coming to stand behind the couch. Gingerly, she set her hands on the back. "I like to wake up early and make breakfast every day."

"Well, breakfast here shall be served at half-past seven," Ruth told her, setting her cigarette between her thin lips. "At least... I hope it will be." Ruth looked to Rose again. "You kept my butler up rather late. I find it inappropriate you would distract him as such. The baseboards in the dining room still have not been polished and Madeleine is due by early afternoon."

"Were you... eavesdropping on us?" Rose furrowed her brow.

"I heard you two in the dining room last night," Ruth replied curtly. "I heard you ask him to grab you _two _wine glasses and meet you in your room. Do you have no dignity, Rose? You're a married woman, how could you think it is appropriate to ask the _butler _for a late night glass of wine?"

"Mother, I wanted the company," Rose shook her head. "And besides, how could _you _think it's appropriate to assign him so many chores, he's up past midnight completing them! He's human, Mother. There's only so much Albertson can do for you in one day."

"I want you to stop distracting my butler," Ruth told her firmly, pointing her cigarette in Rose's direction. "You don't have to make friends with everybody you meet, Rose. Let him do his job in peace. I want everything in order before Madeleine's arrival."

"My arrival wasn't a big deal, though, right?" Rose asked coldly. She began across the room, towards the door in the back right hand corner.

"I want your attitude gone before Madeleine's arrival, as well," Ruth said, exhaling a plume of smoke. "You are to be only courteous and polite. I'm trying to die in peace, Rose. Are you listening to me?" Ruth looked over her shoulder, watching Rose continue. "Where are you going? If you're trying to find the kitchen, use the corridor. That hallway is strictly for the help!"

Rose stopped just a few inches short of the door, her back to her mother. Already, just barely past seven in the morning, Rose's blood was boiling. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder at her mother, who seemed just as off-put as she did. "Yes, well, sometimes you make me feel no better than the help," Rose said, before she smoothly let herself through the door, shutting it firmly behind her. The hallway was narrow with small windows following the winding curve. Rose could hear the clattering of dishes not too far away and ventured forward.

As she followed the bend in the hallway, she spied a silver cart pushed against the wall, cluttered in many dishes. The door across from it was open. Rose spied the tall pot of coffee and she began towards the cart, reaching down to grab one of the clean cups on the second shelf. As she reached for the coffee, Albertson appeared from the kitchen, a platter of a variety of jams in rammicans perched in his hand.

"Mrs. Dawson!" He exclaimed. She poured herself some coffee, arching her eyebrows at him. "I mean... Rose, my apologies. What are you doing back here? Breakfast is almost ready. I shall bring it to you in the library."

"My mother and I have already had a fight," Rose said, setting the pot of coffee back on the cart. She took a long sip, preferring her coffee black. "Mmm," She grinned, pointing towards the cup. "Is this coffee from Germany?"

"Frankfurt," Albertson confirmed with a nod.

"It's wonderful," Rose said. "May I eat breakfast in the kitchen? I'm not having breakfast with her this morning. Not if we want a chance at having a decent day."

"It wouldn't be appropriate," Albertson told her, arranging the rammicans across the cart. "The dishes have not been washed yet."

"Oh, Albertson, I'm nothing like my mother," Rose sighed, holding her coffee close. "I won't turn to stone if I see a dirty dish. If anything, it would comfort me. It would make me feel like I'm at home again."

Albertson sighed, straightening his shoulders. He had a pensive look on his face before he reached for a plate of food that had two sunny side-up eggs, lightly salted and peppered, with a piece of toast, a rammican of grape and strawberry jam, two sausage links, and a small serving of margarine. "Fine... it's not what I would prefer, but if it's what you wish..."

"Thank you," Rose grinned, taking hold of her plate. "Your hospitality is of great value." And with that, she brushed past him. He watched, rather perplexed, as Rose seated herself at a stool around the large marble island. She had no problem digging into her breakfast despite being surrounded by a rather dishevelled kitchen in its war-state of post-breakfast. It was the most relaxed he had seen her since her arrival. Albertson's eyes only lingered a few moments more before he checked his wrist-watch. It was a minute to seven-thirty. He took his place behind the silver cart and began on his way to serve breakfast right on time, as usual.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

Maggie sighed exasperatedly at the squirmy fourteen month-old baby William in her arms. The overhead sun was so bright, hot, and dry that day. Continually, William's pudgey little hands snapped to the hat on his head, batting it back from his face. The young southern belle of a mother, however, was not willing to back down and kept fixing it in hopes the baby woud simply get the message. But he didn't and again and again during the walk to the library he kept pushing it away.

"Baby, your skin is gonna burn!" Maggie explained in a sing-songy voice. "I don't think you wanna have toasty cheeks. C'mon... let Momma put it on your head." Carefully, Maggie resecured the hat over William's dark locks of hair that reflected the color of his father's. She then looked to the three children walking in front of her. Charlie nearly had to skip to keep up with the added weight of his cast. "Alright, so everyone's clubs finish at three-thirty, right?" Maggie asked, giving William's soft thigh a squeeze.

"Yes, ma'am," Valentina replied politely. At the end of the street, the tall library donned in dark grey bricks with a red shingled roof was coming into view, as well as the vibrant azaela hedges of the peaceful garden that preluded the library.

"And everyone is gonna wait at the library to walk home with me, right?" Maggie asked. "None of y'all should be walkin' by yourselves."

"Yes, Mom," Max replied.

"Mom and Dad don't make us do that," Charlie muttered to his sister.

Valentina kept her eyes forward. "Daddy told us to do whatever Mrs. Maggie tells us. Look what happened the last time you went somewhere without them." Quickly, she cast her eyes towards his cast. Charlie huffed and looked forward. The group slowed as they approached the fence dividing the street from the quiet space that was the libray. Charlie gazed up at the two story building feeling relatively dreadful. It was summer time and he was being forced to go to the _library. _It was simply wasn't fair! He and Max had made so much progress on their model train set. Charlie knew he was only going to daydream through the club meeting with perspective decorating ideas for their train station.

"Alright!" Maggie grinned. She was rather eager for the quiet time at the house. She had been reading all kinds of great magazines suggesting wonderful dishes that were proven to help heal bones faster. She was eager to go home and prepare it for Charlie. Maggie almost wanted to test if her healing powers were as fast-working as that of the Lord's claim. "Well, y'all have fun! I'll see all of you right here at three-thirty!" Maggie bent down, smothering a kiss on Max's forehead. She smoothed his hair gently. The three children then turned and began towards the front door. Maggie grinned as she watched them single-file press through the door. She saw them off while bobbing William rhythmically on her hip.

"Good morning, Maggie," Came a voice that drew Maggie away from the front door of the library. When she turned, she found Eleanor with two shopping bags in hand standing there with a grin. She was wearing a navy blue scoop-neck velvet dress with white lace hemming and her lipstick was bright rudy red.

"Oh, hi there, Eleanor," Maggie smiled politely. "Are you here to drop Ivan off for a library program, too?"

"No," Eleanor shook her head. "Ivan isn't really interested in any of the library programs. I was actually out picking up some more supplies for the office. We use a lot of paper and ink."

"You're working at Jack Dawson's office now, aren't you?" Maggie asked, tucking a curl behind her ear and double-checking William's hat was still secure. "How has that been treatin' you?"

"Oh, it's great!" Eleanor exclaimed, adjusting the bags in her hand. "I really feel like I'm part of a team and making a difference, you know? Jack's great about not making you feel like a stranger."

"That Jack Dawson is a people's person, for sure," Maggie grinned.

"How are his children doing with their mother gone?" Eleanor asked.

"Just about as well as any kid," Maggie replied. "They definitely miss her, but between you and I, I think they'll survive." Maggie chuckled gently, her southern accent giving her a lovely charm. "Besides, they got Jack and he's doin' great."

"You're right. Jack can do anything he sets his mind to!" Eleanor nodded, rather energetically. "Speaking of which, he's probably waiting for me. I should get a move on. It was nice seeing you, Maggie. We really should get together some time."

"Absolutely. Give me a ring sometime," Maggie agreed, waving her off. She watched Eleanor continue back to work with great vigor, an extra spring in her step. Maggie pursed her lips and shook her head. "She better be careful."

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After breakfast, Rose decided to be alone in the garden for awhile. She wandered aimlessly through the long winding paths, taking the time feel the texture of flower petals and inhale their sweet aroma. The garden was no substitute for the grandiose society of nature she had come from in Montana, but it did enough to comfort her and take her mind off things. She knew it would be a long day.

The path ahead of her came up against the back of the house. It was the servant's hallway. When Rose peered through one of the windows, she saw a busy kitchen being commanded by Albertson. Staff were peeling potatoes, shucking corn, and tenderizing meat. The preparation for the large dinner was already underway. Rose felt her insides twist when she spied the raw and bloody lamb meat on the counter. Rose pushed away from the wall and walked towards the center of the garden, coming up on the large oak tree. She tilted her head up, feeling puny compared to the solid structure. How she wished her skin was thick as the bark encasing the tree. How she wished she could feel massive and confident like the tree. Rose deeply wished she and her mother didn't bicker so much.

_Everything I do... it annoys her. It irks her. It's almost like she takes it personally. _Rose thought as her eyes trailed through the vibrant leaves waving in the early afternoon air. Slowly, she seated herself beneath the tree, hugging her knees and watching the dangling ivy vines. _I can't be myself if I wish to please her but... it's been ten years since I've been in her control. I don't think I remember how to not act like myself. I don't know how to find that shield again. I can't conform to her ways, I'm so riddled into my own. _Rose huffed, picking some lint from her cotton skirt. _My hopes weren't high to begin with and still, they've been utterly dashed. She's dying and yet... I feel like I can't even mourn the idea because of the way we still are with each other. It's like she isn't dying at all._

Albertson appeared from around a hedge. He seemed to be looking for her. When her vibrant red hair caught his attention, he grinned and came towards her, adjusting his coat. "There you are. Mrs. Fischer wanted me to fetch you. A town car has just pulled up. It would be polite for all us to gather into the foyer to welcome Mrs. Dick, Jacob, John, and William."

Rose lowered her eyes, running her hand along her skirt. "Yes, of course. I'll be there momentarily. I would like a few more minutes under the tree, please, Albertson."

Albertson paused, robotically placing his hands behind his back. "Is everything alright, Rose? You have been in the garden since breakfast."

"Yes, I'm fine," Rose nodded, reaching up to gently touch the clip in her hair. "I suppose the fact that my replacement was on her way began to weigh more on me as the morning progressed..." She shrugged sheepishly. "That's all."

Albertson reached his gloved hand out towards her. Distantly, the sound of closing car doors could be heard. "There is no replacement for someone such as you, Rose. Please, allow me to escort you inside." The red headed woman smiled weakly before she took his hand. He then gestured the way and she followed at his heels. He opened the french door leading towards the dining room, allowing her to go first. When they entered the front foyer, Ruth was sat in her wheelchair, bundled up in fleece blankets. A maid was fluffing her freshly washed hair.

"Albertson, there you are! Go fetch her bags! Quickly, before she thinks she has to haul them up the drive herself!" Ruth instructed. The maid flinched for a moment before she continued pruning Ruth's thinning red curls.

"Yes, Mrs. Fischer," Albertson complied, heading towards the front door. He stepped out and distantly, voices could be heard.

Ruth batted the maid's hands away. "All right, that's enough. I don't need Madeleine to come in and think I'm being checked for ticks!" The maid curtesied and hurried out the door. Rose was certain she was looking for her moment to escape the entire time.

"... Right this way, Mrs. Dick..." Albertson's voice could be heard. The door was pushed further open and that's when Madeleine appeared. Rose hadn't considered ten years had passed. Madeleine had aged quite a bit. She still had creamy smooth skin and dark luxurious brown hair piled atop her head. But she had wider hips now, compared to when she had been a wiry teenager just like Rose. Bundled in her arms was a small boy no older than three. And at her side were two other boys, all dressed in crisp suits, as if they were going to a funeral.

"Ruthie-dear!" Madeleine cried out in jubilation. She set the young boy down and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around the frail wheelchair-ridden woman. The action looked so foreign to Rose and she watched as if she was a hundred miles away. "So good to see you. No matter what, you still look alive and kicking!" Madeleine looked towards her boys. "Come say hello to Mrs. Ruthie."

Sheepishly the boys wandered towards Ruth to say hello. Rose watched as Ruth reached out, taking the time to gently touch the boys wrists and hands. Ruth had never touched Valentina, as if she carried a deadly plague. And even though Charlie was her flesh and blood, she shied away from touching him, too. Rose had always assumed it was normal. Even when Rose was younger, children weren't exactly excited by the idea of sitting in Ruth's lap and she had felt the same way. Now, watching Ruth act even the smallest pinch more tender and kind with Madeleine's children shook Rose to her very core.

Madeleine grinned as she looked over her three young boys. She then did a double-take, gazing across the foyer at the rather meek and disassociated girl. "Rose! Is that you? My goodness, it's been nearly ten years. It's so good to see you!" Madeleine sprung forward, wrapping her arms around Rose's neck before she could react. Rose was frozen in place, but eventually was able to tell herself to move her arms around Madeleine's torso. Madeleine pulled back, taking hold of Rose's hand. "I'm so glad you could be here with your mother during this time. She could really use you."

Rose felt Ruth's eyes fall on her and a pressure came into her chest. "Yes... I'm glad I could be here, too, Madeleine."


	35. Dinner Time

Chapter Thirty-Five

_July 8th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror almost pensively. Her mother had gone through the trouble of picking a dress out for her that night. It was dark silky blue with black velvet embellishments running up the torso and around the cuffs. Apprehensively, Rose smoothed her hand along the velvet waistband. She had decided to pin her curly hair atop her ahead, though some loose strands dangled around the frame of her face. The dinner that awaited her taunted her. Distantly, she could hear the waves of the Atlantic Ocean beyond the bathroom windows.

Rose closed her eyes and turned away from the mirror, shaking her head. It wouldn't be nearly as bad as the _Titanic. _Rose was only but a young foolish girl when she was aboard that ship. Today, Rose felt confident in who she was and what she would tolerate. Rose wandered into her bedroom, her heels clacking against the polished wooden floors. The clock above the mantle was about to strike eight. Rose's family would have already eaten dinner at this point. Rose's stomach grumbled. She worried, however, she wouldn't find anything at the dinner she could force herself to eat.

She decided to head downstairs. If she was even ten seconds late, she would earn a piercing glare from her mother. The anxiety that tingled beneath Rose's skin rang true to the same anxiety that had plagued her for the first seventeen years of her life. Rose still couldn't believe she had managed to live like that for so long. She could hardly stand the feeling now. The upstairs corridor was quiet. Rose assumed Madeleine and the boys had already made their appearance. She walked on the balls of her feet down the marble staircase into the foyer, not wanting to make a ruckus. Carefully, she lifted her skirt, her hand guiding along the railing. When Rose looked towards the winding staircase in front of her, she swore for the slightest moment, she saw a young Jack with slick hair and a crisp tuxedo waiting for her at the bottom. Rose paused, clutching her skirt in her hand. The droning of violins made it to her ears momentarily. Quickly, she shook it off and continued, hurrying across the front foyer.

When Rose entered the back hallway, she heard the violins and was thankful she wasn't crazy. But she wasn't entirely happy to discover there was live music. She appeared slowly in the doorway and gazed around the dining room. The fireplace had a roaring fire in it. The curtains were pulled back to reveal a beautiful night sky set over a blooming garden. The young boys of Madeleine were seated by the fireplace with their own collections of toys. Ruth, in her wheelchair, was with Madeleine, who was staring out the window. Both women had a glass of wine in their hand. The string quartet sat against the far wall, blocking the entrance to the wine cellar.

Albertson appeared at her side in a moments notice, offering a tray with a glass of wine out to her. "Welcome, welcome. Dinner will be served shortly."

"How shortly...?" Rose croaked, reaching for a glass. She cradled it against her for a moment before taking a big gulp.

"I would say in the next half hour," Albertson told her, straightening up. "The meat must rest before we can cut it. Otherwise-"

"It will be dry," Rose nodded and sighed. "I'm sorry, Albertson. I'm awful at small talk. Even worse when it's with my mother."

"Well, you certainly cannot come to the kitchen with me," Albertson said. "That will only make matters worse. You don't have to procure a topic, Rose. Allow them to speak. Just go with the flow. You know how to do that, don't you?"

"Sure, of course," Rose nodded. "May I have some more wine?"

...

_Miles City, Montana_

"Well, we better head home," Maggie grinned, pulling her baby bag over her shoulder. "Come on, Max. Daddy will be home in the next hour, we gotta get you washed up for supper." Max hunched his shoulders. He and Charlie had been parked in the living room making a tower to knock over. "No huffin' or puffin', Mister. You've been playin' all day!"

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Charlie," Max said, scraping his ottoman back and standing up. "Wait for me to build some more, alright!"

"Okay, it's a good stopping point," Charlie agreed, sitting back and inspecting their work.

"Thanks again, Maggie," Jack said, one hand jammed in his pocket. "Are you still okay to come over tomorrow, too?"

"Yeah, of course," Maggie grinned. She combed her fingers through Max's hair and lead him out the door. Jack flipped the porch light on and stepped out after them, closing the door. "Max, you get a head start. I'll be behind you soon."

Jack watched the young boy begin his trot for the gate. "I really appreciate it. I hope they don't give you much trouble."

"Trouble, gosh no!" Maggie broke out into a chuckle, William bobbing on her hip. "I could fall asleep watchin' this group, they're so easy. Your children are angels."

"I guess it helps Charlie is a little slowed down now," Jack laughed, putting his hands on his hips. "We're in trouble when he can ride a bike again." He then reached into his pocket, holding a ten dollar bill out to Maggie. "For today."

She was hesitant to accept the money. She looked at it for awhile and shifted her weight back and forth before, finally, she took it. "I'm not doin' this for the money, Jack."

"I know."

Maggie sighed, giving him a playful glare. "Casserole's in the oven. Take it out in half an hour. Lots of veggies and iron in there. It should be good for Charlie's arm."

"Thank you," Jack nodded.

Maggie turned but stopped. She bit down on her lip for a moment before turning back towards Jack. "Are you alright? I feel like I've been doing a lot for the children, but what about you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Jack shook his head dismissively. Behind Maggie, the fireflies began to twinkle. "When I get to talk to her on the phone, everything is alright. I miss her, but I think I'll survive. Don't worry about me, Maggie."

"But I do," Maggie grinned, walking towards the top of the stairs. "I worry about the male population as a whole. Without us, they'd walk around with missing buttons and wrinkled shirts. And y'all would never eat something good for you!" Jack let out a laugh and Maggie sighed happily. "Good night, Jack. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Maggie. And thanks again." Jack saw her off until she walked out of sight. He then returned inside, shutting the chrips of the cicadas out. He went towards the kitchen to check on the casserole and find Charlie sitting at the island with a glass of apple juice. "Hey, did you pour that yourself?" Jack asked, reaching for an oven mitt.

"Yeah, I already cleaned up what I spilled," Charlie told him.

Jack peered into the oven. The casserole was just beginning to take on a golden look. Not much longer until it would be finished. Jack was glad. He was starving. He hadn't had a proper lunch all week, leaving him famished by evening time. He straightened back up, tossing the oven mitt on the island. "So? How'd it go?" He asked, arching his eyebrows.

"How did what go?" Charlie nearly mirrored his face, his glass hovering inches from his lips.

"You know... the library club-stuff?" Jack asked. He went to the fridge to help himself to a Coca-Cola. He was feeling a hankering for his sweet tooth. Jack popped the cap off and tossed it into the bin. "Did you have fun? Did you learn anything?"

"Oh, yeah," Charlie nodded, taking a quick sip of apple juice. He promptly wiped his lips on his sleeve. "It was actually pretty cool. Today, they were buildin' towers out of different things and then we were knocking them over. The teacher let us bring a box of Lincoln Logs home so we could keep experimenting!"

"So, are you going to go back next week?" Jack asked, setting his soda down and reaching for the oven mitt again. "I think it's a great group to get involved in. Just think how many friends you'll make."

Charlie watched as his father pulled the steaming casserole from the oven, setting it on top. "Yeah, I guess so," Charlie shrugged. "As long as Max goes."

Jack smiled. "Good. I'm glad to hear that, Charlie," Charlie returned the grin. Jack then leaned into the dining room, craning his next towards the stairs. "Tina! Dinner!"

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose had lingered near Madeleine and Ruth for what seemed like an eternity. She followed Albertson's advice and allowed them to speak. They hadn't spoken about anything significant, as if the world was an utter bore. They spoke about the fresh summer gardens cropping up. They spoke about their mild Fourth of July plans. They spoke about the upcoming school year for Jacob and John. Rose had mostly only nodded.

Albertson announced the presence of dinner by jingling a small bell. He took his time wheeling Ruth to the head of the large and heavy dining room table before rushing back to the servant's cooridor to assist the chefs in pushing out long carts filled with decadent platters of food. Rose was seated across from Madeleine, her mother to her side. Despite being at the opposite end of the table, Rose felt very warm from the flames of the fire. She sat stiffly in her chair, as if her every movement was being watched and judged. There was that feeling again. She knew, in that moment, if she screamed, not a single person would look to her. She felt dreadful.

With professional ease, Albertson and the chefs began serving the plates. Set before Rose was a portion of a lamb rack, cooked just to a perfect medium rare. Beside it was homemade coleslaw, a light vegetable salad, and sweet corn slathered in butter and salt. Sitting in a dainty rammican beside the large hunk of meat was mint sauce. Rose felt her stomach pulsate at the very sight of it. The help then took their time placing more food between all the diners. A whole loaf of bread, risen and freshly baked that morning. An assortment of sliced cheese. A rammican of honey butter. A small dish of boiled asparagus and cooked squash slices. A bowl of cavier. A platter of crackers. Rose watched as, slowly, the table had enough food on it to feed an entire town. It was much more food than the three women and three young boys could ever dream of devouring. The moment the final platter of yogurt and apple slices were placed, the servants, including Albertson, came to stand at attention with their hands behind their backs.

Rose watched as her mother's eyes slowly combed through each dish, as if she would be able to see flaws or discover missing plates in that moment. She took her time unfolding her linen napkin and smoothing it across her lap before she cleared her throat. "Dismissed."

Slowly, the servants unwound from their robotic composure and began towards the narrow corridor. Rose gripped the stem of her wine glass tightly as she watched them brush past the table without throwing another glance their way. "Thank you," Rose said, looking over her shoulder at a few of the chefs.

"Rose, please, they must go clean the kitchen now," Ruth said, shooting her a look.

Rose pursed her lips and took a slow sip of her wine. Albertson remained in the room, going to stand beside the door leading to the servant's corridor. The young boys had been given steaks instead of lamb, which they immediately began digging into themselves. They were accustomed to this kind of life. They didn't bat another eye. Madeleine enjoyed her bubbly champagne for a moment more before lifting her flute glass upwards.

"What a magnificent dinner, Ruth. It is fit for royalty and for tonight, that shall be us!"

"I must say, it has exceeded my expectations," Ruth smiled rather warmly at Madeleine. Rose motioned to Albertson for more wine, which he promptly served. "It feels nice to be eating properly in the dining room. Lord knows I am tired of that library. Not a single interesting book to be found. They're all about birds!"

"Oh, dear, might you need some knitting needles instead, perhaps?" Madeleine asked as she daintly spread her mint sauce across her lamb. Rose pursed her lips as she watched the rather unsavory sight. "Knitting kept me sane after I was on bed rest with Jakey, don't you remember?"

"No, no," Ruth shook her head. "I would have to learn all over again."

"We have plenty of time, Ruthie-dear!" Madeleine assured her with a big grin. Madeleine looked across the table at Rose, who had taken a curt sip of wine while her eyes hovered on the rather eerie portrait of Nathaniel and Ruth on the wall. "Rose, darling, what did you do in the days following your son's birth?"

"Oh," Rose felt her mouth go dry as she fell beneath both the women's gaze. "My first novel was being published... I was pretty preoccupied with that."

"You were... working?" Madeleine asked, obviously confused.

"I did a lot of it from bed," Rose explained, the light of the fire glinting off her wine glass. "Jack was so helpful in those first couple of days. Charlie felt comfortable enough to sleep in his arms. It helped me out immensely."

"Typical," Ruth muttered, cutting through her lamb. Her sharp elbows jutted out from her wiry body. "You insist on being a working woman."

"I'm a mother _and _a working woman," Rose said, shrugging. "What's the big deal? It works for my family. We are just fine."

Ruth only looked Rose before calmly taking a bite of lamb and then poking at a tomato in her salad. "And why aren't my grandchildren here right now? Have you written this off as a business trip and forced Jack to be babysitter?"

"Well, I wasn't told much beyond that you were just _dying. _I had no idea what I was walking in to. And besides, you didn't ask, but Charlie's arm is broken and he has fourteen stitches in his head right now, so I didn't think it was appropriate to bring him. Not that you asked or anything," Rose shrugged again, drinking more of her wine.

"My God, what happened to Charles?" Ruth asked, lowering her spoonful of salad back to her plate.

"He's fine," Rose shook her head. "He just had an accident on his bike, that's all."

"And you left him to be cared for by Jack?" Ruth was seemingly appalled by this.

"Mother, I was told I was needed here," Rose said. "Jack can take care of the kids. He's great with the kids. And it's not the first time he's been left with them."

"I'm surprised to hear I came before your family for once," Ruth replied cooly, cutting her lamb patiently. Rose remained quiet, but on the inside she was screaming. "Why are you here, exactly? You never told me when I first asked."

Rose set her wine glass on the table, pursing her lips. "I did tell you. Because you're my mother and you're _dying_. How could I not be here? Even after everything... it would be so incredibly disrespectful not to, especially after I was forced to mourn that horrible man that was my father."

"Oh, that reminds me," Ruth looked up from her dinner. "You're probably curious about the will."

"I hadn't really thought about it," Rose shook her head.

"Well, good," Ruth said. "Because there isn't one. Everything here is Nathaniel's. Not an ounce of me. There is nothing for you take... except my body."

"Yes, well, I'll see to that," Rose replied, casting her eyes down.

In the next moment, Ruth and Madeleine were able to strike up their carefree chatter about different kinds of yarns and the colors they would request from the little seamstress boutique down the street. Madeleine talked endlessly about the newest pair of knitting needles she had, which were apparently plaited in real gold. Ruth insisted on finding herself her own pair. Again, Rose sat there silently. She felt almost as if she wasn't in the room.

"What colors will be considered most chic this fall?" Ruth asked after eating a spoonful of coleslaw. "You did go to France earlier this year, didn't you?"

"Back in February, yes," Madeleine replied, reaching for a wedge of cheese. "The more _tré chic _colors, as they like to call them, will be dark oranges and pale yellows."

"Oranges and yellows?" Ruth echoed, scrunching her nose up. "I simply cannot keep up with modern fashion. I can't even imagine orange and yellow together on one dress!"

"It's quite trendy," Madeleine grinned. "Rose, have you been following the recent trends?"

"Oh, no, not really," Rose shook her head. "It never interested me much." In front of her, her plate remained untouched. "I followed the Great War's front in France, though."

"We will not be speaking politics at the table," Ruth told her firmly, reaching for her glass of champagne. "The Great Fool's Errand- don't even get me started."

Rose set her fork down and drank some of her wine. Her eyes slowly looked over each dish laid carefully around her. Not a single thing looked appetizing. Though she thought she had been hungry just an hour before, she certainly was not now. The sound of eating didn't sound appealing in the least. She glanced to Madeleine and Ruth, already chatting again, while they continued their meal with ease. Madeleine was discussing the fiasco of buying new drapes for a summer home her new husband recently purchased.

Rose lowered her hands to her lap, curling them into fists. She was growing fidgety in her chair. Everything was going horribly wrong, just like her nightmares had shown her. Any hope of finding a happy-medium for the end of Ruth's life was completely diminished. Rose would watch her mother die, mentally far away and foggy. Rose took a deep breath and scraped her chair backwards, standing up.

"If you'll excuse me," Rose said quietly and evenly.

"Where are you going?" Ruth asked, twisting in her wheelchair. "Your lamb is going to get cold. This is a very rude way to act as we welcome our guests, Rose."

"I apologize, but I must step out," Rose said again, heading towards the doorway.

"Rose! Rose! Come back!" Ruth called, trying to move her wheelchair on her own. Her arms were simply too weak, however. As Rose went to the doorway, she reached over and grabbed a full bottle of wine. "Rose!"

"I'm just getting some air. I won't go far. Please, continue talking about those drapes," Rose said over her shoulder before exiting without another word.


	36. As Fate Would Have It

Chapter Thirty-Six

_July 8th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose barrelled out the front door of the Fischer state rather clumsily. She had crossed a threshold of reasonable drinking for herself, but Rose felt absolutely miserable otherwise. Every visit to her mother had panned out in exactly the same way. During the train ride, Rose would question why she was so petulant about seeing her mother. She would express hope in things being different. And every time... things never were. Ruth was still her stale self from 1912, the one that made Rose feel so lonely and foreign. When visiting with Jack, things were somewhat bearable. Being here on her own, Rose felt suspectible to her mental manipulation and Rose stood on shakey ground. This all only reminded the woman of the life she didn't miss. The life she was grateful she had gotten away from.

Rose wandered through the grass, which was already growing dewey. She didn't care about her shoes or her dress or her stockings. Rose felt better just being under the stars and she relished in the milky moonlight. She eased herself down into the grass on the slope in their yard. With her back to the house, she popped open the bottle of wine and slowly began to nurse it. She couldn't help but wallow in thoughts of why me's and sarcastic oh great's and tomorrow's going to be fun. Rose knew things wouldn't go off without a hitch tonight. She and her mother were simply too different. And it seemed the iceberg of 1912 only widened that gap between them.

Rose heaved a sigh. She wanted to go home. She considered, briefly, that maybe she should just throw the towel in. Her mother wanted to die in peace and Rose couldn't quite decide how that meant she fit into the picture. Maybe things were better off with Rose just receiving the announcement of her death in the mail. Was coming here a mistake? It had confirmed many things for Rose. Even when at the end of the line, with Ruth's back up against it all, she still hadn't changed. There was still nothing for her to say to Rose. That silence, that insincerity, spoke volumes to Rose. In the few days she had been there, she had realized so many things, whether she wanted to or not. She hadn't come to terms with how to process everything. Rose still couldn't imagine Ruth ceasing to exist. She hadn't the faintest clue how to mourn. Was it even worth the energy?

Rose tilted her head back to drink more wine and her eyes fell across the sky. There weren't nearly as many stars as there were in Miles City, but it was just enough to comfort Rose. If she tuned out the droning noise of nearby traffic, she could almost pretend she was back in her house, sitting on the porch on a hot humid night. She closed her eyes as she imagined Jack in the chair beside, his feet lazily propped up on the table while a cigarette dangled from his lips. His smooth velvety voice would be ringing out into the nighttime and the orchestra from the trees would call back. Rose could see a young Charlie and Valentina, barefoot, crunching through the grass as they errupted in giggles, flailing glass jars to catch lightening bugs. Rose dearly wished to return to her warm home, full of love and happy memories. Rose clutched the bottle of wine tightly as she felt the deepest ache in her belly. She missed her family so badly.

Just then, a noise caught Rose's attention. It sounded almost like small rocks being thrown, but she wasn't entirely sure. Rose straightened her back, gazing over her shoulder towards the house. The noise came for a second time, then a third. Rose squinted before she realized _eggs _were being thrown at her mother's house. Rose arched her eyebrows and gazed towards the driveway, seeing a tall and slender man in a woolen gray suit. He kept bending over towards a carton before hurling the next egg. Carefully, Rose came to her feet and slowly emerged from the shadows of the manicured yard. The man was rearing his arm back again when Rose's vibrant hair caught his attentino. He did a double-take, quickly lowering the egg in his hand.

"Rose...!" He exclaimed, his face heating up.

"Cal, hello," Rose nodded, lowering her bottle of wine to her side. What an interesting way to bump into each other, she thought. Rose was drunk and hiding in shadows, Cal was throwing eggs at people's houses. "What are you doing here?" She asked, rather sheepishly.

"I, uh... I heard Ruth was dying," Cal said slowly, shifting the egg nervously between his hands. "I came to pay my respects."

Rose looked down at the carton of eggs sitting on the ground between them. "Is this some kind of tradition or ritual I'm not informed of?" She took a moment to inspect his face. He looked exhausted. His wispy brown hair was left unkempt with some loose strands dangling over his forehead.

"Yes," Cal replied. "This is the 'thanks, but fuck you' ritual." He knelt down and extended his hand out towards Rose. She gazed at the egg that gleamed in his hand. "Would you like to throw one? I heard from a Chinese woman it's good luck, too."

"I don't know," Rose shook her head, not moving to accept the egg. "Egging my dying mother's house sounds a little... blasphemous, don't you think?"

Cal stood up straight now, hunching his shoulders. "And when have you ever been the Biblical-type?"

"Throw another one," Rose told him, lifting her bottle up to take a drink. "I'll consider it."

"Oh, thirsty tonight, are we?" Cal arched his eyebrows. "Is that what you were out here doing before I showed up? Drinking alone? Where's Jack?"

"He's at home, in Montana," Rose replied. "Do you have a cigarette?"

Cal fished into the pocket of his coat without hesitation. He promptly lit his lighter, watching her cigarette cherry. "Yeah, I guess it's better to keep him away from Ruth, huh? His stocks are looking great, best not to let her cruddy luck get in the way." Cal reached for the wine, helping himself to a mouthful. "So... how bad is she?"

Together, the two gazed towards the large estate that now had dried egg with bits and pieces of shell stuck to it, splattering across the upstairs windows and shutters. "She's still the same as she ever was except..." Rose stuck her cigarette between her lips, shrugging. "Now she's just pile of bones."

Cal took another gulp of wine, looking to Rose in the moonlight. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't know what there is to be sorry about," Rose shook her head.

"Well, it's an awful situation, whether you love them or not," Cal and Rose swapped. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and she immediately drank some wine. "You're watching a human being die. It's... unpleasant to say in the least."

"Like, with your mother?" Rose asked, arching her eyebrows. Cal held the cigarette out towards her, which she gingerly accepted.

"No, no," Cal lowered his eyes, shuffling the eggs in his palm. "It was easy with my mother. She had cancer. It was inevitable. With cancer, one day you just... stop. You're never ready for it but I felt like in the year following her diagnosis... that followed us and we just always had it in the back of our minds, randomly thinking, 'hey, my mother could die, right now, this instant'. It was a lot harder with my father. None of us were expecting it."

"Nathan... died?" Rose was slow to cock her head up at Cal.

"Yeah, in 1920," Cal nodded, shifting his feet back and forth. "We'd just finished a meeting and my dad had run back to his office to get his coat. We were all going out for a bite to eat. Eventually, it became noticeable how late he was so I went back to get him. Found him laying on the ground, dead. Heart failure. Happened while he just putting his coat on."

"Cal, I'm... really sorry."

"You don't have to say that," Cal set the eggs in the carton and sheepishly dug his hands into his pockets. "I know you didn't like him. And rightfully so. He was a dick."

Rose smiled weakly. "Still. You must really miss him. I know you two worked well together."

"Business hasn't been the same without him," Cal lowered his eyes, which had become glassy in the milky moonlight. "It feels... wrong to have a meeting and there's not a chair for him. None of us would even be there if it wasn't for him."

"I know the feeling all too well," Rose told him, lowering the cigarette from her lips. "I guess I still don't understand death after all of these years. How does a person simply cease to exist? It amazes me the world still finds it in itself to pick up and carry on... even after people who make an impact leave."

The duo was quiet for a few beats. Rose carelessly dropped her cigarette to the terra cotta driveway beneath her, snubbing it out with her sharp heel. She knelt and grabbed hold of an egg, slowly turning it in her hand. Cal watched with arched eyebrows as Rose reared her arm back and tossed the egg. It splattered across the pillars, dripping down onto the stairs of the front porch.

"Do you want to get a drink somewhere?" Rose asked, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I'd love to get out of this house for a night. I fear I'm going mad. Or stir-crazy."

Cal looked towards the tall looming estate for a moment. How nice it looked with dried egg splattered all over it, he thought. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah, let's go." Together, they set off, leaving the cigarette butt, the half-finished bottle of wine, and the carton of eggs behind in the middle of the driveway.

...

Cal and Rose didn't have to walk far to find a speakeasy nestled into an alleyway. Some people were spilled out in the narrow corridor between the building and chain link fence. Each had a bottle in their hand, speaking in a rowdy fashion. Cal and Rose squeezed past, keeping their heads low. They entered into a small room that had a couple people occupying the makeshift bar made of ply wood and cinderblocks. The duo quickly found a table by the back wall and the bartender served them the foamy golden ale he had on tap. His only option that he assured them was brewed above standards. Rose didn't much care in that moment, she just wanted to drink and relax. When the beer met her lips, it reminded her of the cheap ale she had aboard the _Titanic_. The hoots of bag pipes reached her ears but dissipated just as quickly as she swallowed her first gulp and looked across the table at the rather unlikely drinking partner.

"So, you came alone?" Cal asked after trying some of his beer. He had the same attitude as Rose, though. If it got him drunk, he didn't much care what was bobbing in the frementing barrels to make it that way. Rose nodded. "That woman still won't give in to liking Jack, hm?"

Rose couldn't decide whether to laugh or scoff, so she did a mix of both, shaking her head. "She doesn't much care for my children, either." Rose drank more of her beer, catching a hint of ginger leaves. "I'm just here because it's the right thing to do. As soon as all of this is over, I'm going back home."

"Taking flight for the mountains like the bird you've always been," Cal smirked.

"What are you doing in Pittsburgh?" Rose asked, gripping the handle of her glass. "Jack told me you primarily operated out of the New York City office."

"I'm just... in the neighborhood," Cal shrugged, lowering his eyes to his foamy drink.

"Cal, nobody takes the late night train to Pittsburgh for no reason," Rose said, glancing towards his suit. "I can tell, you've only just been in a few hours. You haven't even changed since the ride. You couldn't have possibly come all the way to Pittsburgh to just throw eggs at my mother's house."

Cal lifted his drink, but stopped short of his lips. "You're right. Buying the eggs was an idea that hatched after I had arrived." He tilted his head back and took a big gulp. He then signalled his hand towards the bartender for another round, which was promptly served.

"Then what are you doing here, Cal?" Rose asked, finishing her beer and pushing it to the side for her next.

Cal seemed hesitant to speak. Rose couldn't entirely blame him. Though Cal, Rose, and Jack had grown to have an neutral relationship, more grounded in business, there still always seemed to be an invisible wall between them. One neither of them could ever cross. After everything that had happened, it was a miracle, they thought, that they even had the courteous relationship they had with Cal today. He had gone through many rough patches in his life in the past decade and Rose could never deny that reading the tabloids gave her a sense of guilt. Like maybe she had done this to Cal with a reckless swipe of her wrist. Rose could never apologize, though. How could she say sorry for getting what she wanted rather than being what he wanted?

"I'm getting divorced," Cal finally said, rather plainly. "She's getting the house in New York City."

"Cal, I'm so-"

"Please, don't say you're sorry," Cal set his elbows on the table and bobbed his knee. "It's already awful enough. Nobody is really sorry. They're just glad it's not them." Cal took a gulp of beer and sighed. "I've decided maybe it's a good thing. I hated living in New York City, but Elizabeth always insisted on it. I want to move back to Pittsburgh... get back to my roots."

"So... she gets everything?" Rose asked. "You're essentially homeless right now?"

"Nothing is official. I could be there right now if I pleased," Cal told her, wiping the condensation from his palm onto his slacks. "It's just hard to be around during this time. She'll use my daughter's against me if she has the chance."

"Wow... That sounds really hard, Cal," Rose said. "So, you're here house shopping?"

"Yes, I was in the neighborhood and remembered Ruth had come to live here with her second husband," Cal replied. "It's so funny. I remember she hated Pittsburgh fiercely when we were engaged." He grew quiet for a moment. "It's astounding how much changes in ten years, don't you think, Rose?"

"Time really finds a way to fly."

Cal's hand tightened around his glass. "How different do you think things would have been if we had gotten married, Rose? What if... the _Titanic _had never hit that ice berg?"

"You know that's a dangerous game to play," Rose shook her head. "Your mind could entertain you with thousands of scenarios... one's that never even stood a chance."

"But what if," Cal insisted again, "the _Titanic _had smoothly sailed into port? What if we hadn't had to fight for our lives and lose our wits?"

Rose was quiet, pursing her lips for a moment. Slowly, her eyes wandered to Cal, who seemed so exhausted. The years had changed him. He was hardly the man she knew from ten years before. "It wouldn't have mattered if the _Titanic _hadn't hit the ice berg," Rose told him calmly. "Because either way... I was getting off that ship with Jack."

Cal pressed his knuckle to his chin, his eyes hovering over the young woman. "It was too late when we got on the _Titanic_, wasn't it? We had already expired."

"Even if we had bought tickets for a different steamliner, I still don't think we would have actually gotten married, Cal," Rose shook her head. "And in the end... neither of us even really wanted to, right? We were only acting to appease our parents. That's no way to live, Cal."

"You're right," Cal heaved a sigh and tilted his head back for his glass. "Just sometimes... amidst all of this frustration and sorrow and confusion... I try to remember, Rose, if at any point, either of us were ever happy together? Did you ever get excited by the idea of me coming around? Where did it all go horribly wrong?"

Rose grinned weakly. "You and I were doomed from the start. It was never you, Cal. It was always me. Demonized by my parents, pitted against them. Our family was utterly gutted. Me being arranged to marry you amongst all the turmoil, ruminations, and undetermined future of our family was only putting you on the pedastool where I could harbor my regrets and anger. It was a recipe for disaster."

"You sound so wise," Cal shook his head. "What's changed?"

"I grew up," Rose said. "I've seen the world on my own terms."

"I suppose that's what a decade brings; change. Whether it be good or bad," Cal sighed. "Just ten years ago, I thought I ruled the world." Cal scoffed. "Look at me now."

Rose lifted her glass. The dim overhead light made her green eyes twinkle. "One decade doesn't have to define the next, Cal. Here's to another. Let the changes come as they may."

Cal nearly quivered as he gazed across the table at Rose. Her soft porcelain skin glowed. Despite her short locks being pinned up, the vibrant color still broke free and radiated around her. She was not the same girl he had known ten years ago. That quiet seventeen year old girl had turned into a thought-provoking mysterious twenty-seven year old woman. Cal could only curse himself for being the fool he was ten years ago. If only, he thought, he could go back in time with the knowledge he now possessed, equipped with the eyes that could go deeper. He would have been able to see Rose for who she truly was. He could only kick himself now, seeing the woman she was without him.

Rose lifted her glass up. "Cheers," Her sweet harmonious voice rang out.

"Cheers," Cal replied, rather shakily, as they clanked their glasses together.


	37. Words Left Unsaid

Chapter Thirty-Seven

_July 9th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

The small room that once served as a living room, converted into a waiting room, was relatively quiet. Only a few other patients were waiting to see the doctor. They were all scattered out amongst the several chairs and loveseats that lined the walls. For some patients, it was obvious why they were there. They looked exhausted or pale. Some had gauze wound around their heads or arms. Charlie Dawson was just as obvious as them. The young nine year old slouched in his seat, resting his bulky cast in his lap. The bruises on his face were slowly fading away and the stitches in his forehead were ready to come out. He swung his legs back and forth impatiently while in the seat beside him, his father read a competitors magazine, his brow furrowed.

Charlie huffed, blowing some bangs from his brow. His eyes scanned along the walls at the old antique paintings of landscapes. Each were of various locations of Montana. One displayed the beautiful majestic rolling mountains that were covered in shadows from the puffy clouds flying overhead. Wildlife of all kind crawled and flew about within the realms of the frame. Charlie found his eyes fixated on it, taking in all the brush strokes and admiring the slow cascadence between shades of color. Charlie felt like he could feel the breeze of the high altitude against his cheeks and goosebumps puckered across his skin. He wanted to paint something like that, he decided. He wanted to work with a canvas that big and he wanted to evoke that feeling even more.

Suddenly a wail rang out from behind the door on the other side of the receptionist's desk. Charlie was drawn back to his surroundings and everyone, including the receptionist, cocked their head towards the door. Charlie shivered in his seat as he remembered where he was. Charlie looked at his father, nearly pleadingly. "Can we not do this today, Dad? Please? Obviously the doctor's in a foul mood."

Jack shook his head, turning the page in his magazine. "You don't know what that guy is havin' done in there. For all we know, his arm is getting amputated. Besides, you need to get your stitches out now. They can't stay in much longer."

"But then it's gonna be _me _cryin' on the other side of the door!" Charlie countered.

"Charlie," Jack sighed, lowering his magazine and looking at his anxious son. "I've had stitches, too. It doesn't hurt too bad to have them removed. You're just gonna feel a little tug. That's all."

Another cry rang out from the door and again the people in the waiting room were roused. Charlie shook his head. "_Dad!_"

"Charlie, please," Jack glanced around the waiting room. He reached out, gripping Charlie's shoulder. "I promise everything is going to be alright. It's okay to be nervous. But you shouldn't be scared. Me and the doctor are going to make it as painless as possible for you, okay?"

Charlie sighed, hunching his shoulders. "I wish Mom was here..."

Jack grinned weakly, giving Charlie a squeeze. "Me too, bud."

Suddenly, the door flung open and a man with a gauze wrapped around his forearm, cast in a sling, stepped out. It was obvious he had been beat up or taken a nasty fall. His right eye was swollen shut, his eyebrow had received fresh stitches. His lips were puffy. Jack nudged Charlie with his elbow.

"See? That guy is in way worse condition than you are," Jack whispered.

"Charles Dawson?" The receptionist called out.

"You're going with me, right?" Charlie gazed anxious at his father.

"Yeah, of course," Jack grabbed his cane and stood up. "Let's go." Gently, he pat Charlie on the shoulder blade and guided him past the desk, giving the receptionist a polite nod. He lead Charlie towards the back room where there was a large examination table towards the bay windows, plus a table of instruments against the walls, a plush chair, and a few extra simple chairs against the wall. Jack instructed Charlie into the plush examination chair. The table would definitely provoke more anxiety. Jack grabbed himself a chair from the wall, scraping it up beside Charlie. "See, this isn't so bad. The room isn't scary at all, right? I think it's pretty cheery with the flowery wallpaper. Look, it has roses on it. It's like your mother is right here with us."

Charlie was busy looking the other direction, however. "I can see at least eight knives from here."

"Charlie, think of the doctor as a painter," Jack said, making his son's eyes meet his. "He needs various tools of all sizes to do what's required for his work. Just like you have small and big paint brushes. For different needs, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Charlie nodded. "But I don't use my paint brushes on the doctor and even if I did, the brushes would just tickle him. _His _are sharp and dangerous!"

"Well, he's probably not going to use one on you," Jack told him. "And even if he did, he'd probably use the smallest one."

"What's that spoon-looking tool for?" Charlie scrunched his nose up. "Is that an ice cream scoop for the _brain_?" Jack couldn't help but smile while he huffed. "Dad, what if the doctor has to take some of my brain out with the stitches?"

"Charlie, you have my word that I won't allow anyone to take your brain."

"What would they use that saw for?" Charlie pointed, looking at his father with arched eyebrows.

"That's what they'll use to cut your cast off in a couple week," Jack replied. "The plaster is really tough. They need something with sharp teeth to get into it."

"Aw man, they're just gonna cut through my painting?" Charlie frowned, looking down at his cast.

"Maybe we can ask them to cut around it so you can keep it," Jack said. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there, okay, bud? Why don't you just relax?"

Charlie sighed, sinking against his chair. "Yeah, because this place is _super _relaxing." Jack made a face at his son as there came a curt knock from a door tucked in the opposite corner from the entrance. It was most likely the entrance to the small lab and office for the doctor and nurse he kept on hand. Jack looked expectantly towards the door, coming to his feet. He nearly hit the floor, however, when the nurse came through, clipboard in hand.

It was Sheila Freedman. Her thin blonde hair was pinned to the crown of her head, a white headband placed in her locks. She was wearing a black long-sleeve dress with white cuffs and collars, along with shiny gold buttons. Jack never would have guessed she was a nurse. Looks could be deceiving. When she entered, she did a double take from her clipboard, slowly connecting the dots. Quietly, Sheila closed the door behind her, setting the clipboard on the table and approaching the chair where Charlie sat.

"Well, Mr. Jack Dawson, we meet again," Sheila said with her southern twang.

"Sheila, hello," Jack replied as courteous as possible. He was nervous he sounded like a robot. "It's a surprise to see you. I wasn't aware you worked here."

Shelia turned towards the table of instruments, placing a small pair of silver scissors, tweezers, and a small scapel on a tray. She spoke as she worked. "I've been a nurse ever since I left Texas. I've seen first hand they're in great demand. I can get a job every time we gotta pack up an' leave. It's... flexible," She set the tray on a rolling cart, pushing it towards the armrest. "To your feet for me, son. I need to weigh and measure you."

Meekly, young Charlie trailed at Nurse Sheila's heels across the room. He stepped up onto the small plate and Shelia worked on balancing it out. She paused, however, glancing towards Charlie's cast. "My boy did this to you, didn't he?"

Pensively, Jack watched his son from across the room. Charlie seemed to pause in that moment, his eyes lingering towards the scale, before slowly he gazed up at the patiently waiting woman. Charlie licked his lips. Jack was sure he thought it was a trap. Charlie finally nodded. "Yeah. He threw a backpack in front of my bike."

Shelia finished weighing and measuring Charlie, sending him back to his seat. She grabbed her clipboard, scribbling across it quickly. "You're a healthy sixty-four pounds and just under five feet," She said, placing the clipboard back on the table. "Doctor Howard will be out shortly to get you ready to have those stitches out. It looks like they've healed up nicely. You just sit here and relax. I'm gonna speak with your daddy back here. Holler if you need anything."

Jack glanced towards his son, giving him a gentle pat on the arm. "I'll be right back, bud. Hold tight."

"Dad, no!" Charlie reached out, grabbing hold of Jack's rolled sleeve. "What if the doctor starts working on me before you get back."

"Charlie, the doctor knows more than I do," Jack squeezed Charlie's wrist. "It won't take long. I promise."

Charlie watched in terror as his father left the room, leaving him in silence. Jack followed Shelia through a narrow corridor that had three doors. She took the first on the right, leading him into a small room that looked to be used for patients who needed rest, most likely after a tooth extraction. Jack closed the door, keeping his back against it. Shelia paced into the room, reaching out to smooth the stiff sheets on the cot, patiently awaiting the next person.

"My husband told me he spoke to you," Shelia finally said, looking over her shoulder at Jack. "Can't say he elaborated much on what he told you, but I know my husband. He gets chatty when his heart leaks onto his sleeve." Shelia now turned towards Jack. "I'd like to say my husband would never stoop to the level of pleadin', but I'm worried he begged you not to press charges against our boy."

"No, actually," Jack shook his head. "That never came up. We weren't pressing charges, anyway."

"What did he tell you about us?" Shelia asked. "Did he talk about the woes of constantly moving? The anxiety of never completely unpacking a house, fearful you'll just be puttin' it all back in a couple months? Did he complain about those... those _hethens_ we call sons?"

"Some of that came up," Jack replied slowly, pressing his back against the door. "He told me a little bit about where you guys were from... where it all began. You know... it's funny, Shelia. We nearly crossed paths all those years ago in Havana."

Shelia stared at Jack for a few moments, as if she hadn't caught what he had said. "Are you from Havana?" Jack shook his head. "But... you were there at some point?"

"Sheila..." Jack crossed the room towards her, gazing down at the rather short woman. "There are some things I need to explain to you that I can't right at this moment. Not yet, anyway. But I need you to understand that something has to be done about your boys. This is a great place to raise your kids. Don't let them ruin that for you, Shelia."

She pursed her lips. "And what do you care what happens to my family? In a matter of months, my boy has got your's in the doctor's office."

"I promise it will all make sense soon," Jack told her. "But for now... it's your chance for a change with your boys, Shelia. The chance to start fresh. Matthew wants it and obviously you do, too. Something about Miles City has spoken to you, I can tell by the look on your face."

Shelia scoffed. "What, you believe it was fate or some other nonsense that brought my family here?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "But there was a reason you moved to Miles City."

"Yeah," Shelia snorted. "Because nobody knew who we were."

"This is going to be where you raise your children," Jack insisted. "You're not going to move again."

Shelia shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest while her face swirled with apprehension. "You don't know squat, mister."

"And neither do you."

...

The stitch-removal had gone smoothly and while Charlie had complained of soreness, he had otherwise taken it well. Jack got him a vanilla ice cream cone on the way home and dropped him off with Maggie. Max had been waiting rather impatiently for Charlie to come and the boys immediately raced off, not paying Charlie's new fleshy scar another thought. Jack returned to the office after that. As he approached his closed office door, he noticed Eleanor was not at her desk. He paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he gazed over her desk. Her purse was there, as was her uneaten lunch. She had to be around somewhere. Jack needed some parcels shipped.

He pushed through his office door and as he shut it behind him, he found Eleanor. She was arranging files. When she heard him come in, she paused, not looking towards him. "Hi, Jack, welcome back," She said. Her voice had an edge to it, however.

"Hey, Eleanor," Jack replied, walking to his desk slowly while keeping an eye on her back. "Did I miss anything exciting while I was gone?"

"No, nothing at all," Eleanor said, shuffling nervously through the files. "I was just trying to find a page proof for Mr. Hunter."

Jack paused behind his desk, not seating himself. He pressed his knuckles against the edge of the desk. "Eleanor, would you look at me?" She didn't move. She kept her head cocked away. "Please?" Jack asked again. After a moment, she finally turned her face towards him. Her cheeks were tear stained, her mascara and eyeliner smudged. "Did Lance make you cry?"

"No, gosh no," Eleanor shook her head. She stepped away from the filing cabinet, having been found out, and reached for a handkerchief tucked into her buttercup yellow velvet waistband. Gingerly, she dabbed at her eyes, dismayed to see her cosmetics smearing onto it. "It's a tough time of the month for me, that's all."

"Is everything alright?" Jack asked, raking his hair from his face. "Do you need to go home?"

"No, that would only make it worse," Eleanor told him. She sighed. "The anniversary of Benjamin's death is today. Every year, I think it should get easier. I figured after the first three years, it would just become another day on the calendar, but it hasn't. It still continues to be an infamous day."

"Wow, Eleanor, I'm so sorry," Jack now came around the desk to stand beside her, pressing his hand to her shoulder. "I had no idea. It's understandable if you don't want to go home. Maybe you should just go sit in the employee lounge for now and get off your feet? I'll find the proof, don't worry about it."

"I want the work, Jack," Eleanor insisted, gazing up at him with the largest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. "Sitting and doing nothing is the absolute worse. And being alone just makes everything dreadful. I only want to take my mind off things. I don't want to think about him."

"Well, alright," Jack sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck. "If you're sure. If you think you need a break, don't hesitate to take one. I'm just gonna be right here at my desk, proof reading the articles for the August edition."

Eleanor's heart fluttered in her desk as she felt Jack's warm calloused hand slip away from her shoulder. She watched with her wet eyes as he rounded his desk and seated himself, shuffling the papers about to start in order for how they wanted the magazine to flow. She observed him for a few moments as he situated himself. He was about to set to work when his refreshing blue eyes lifted, meeting her's and nearly startling her.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Jack asked, setting his elbows to the surface of his desk.

Eleanor licked her lips and shifted her weight back and forth for a moment, drawing up her courage. She approached the edge of Jack's desk, nervously wringing the handkerchief between her fingers. "I... um... I would like to make a request."

"Sure," Jack nodded, sitting back in his chair.

"Since today is so hard for me... is there any chance you could come over for dinner tonight at my house so I don't have to be alone? This day doesn't bother Ivan... not that I think he even knows what today really is. It's so hard being in that house, remembering Benjamin on the day he died there in our dining room." Eleanor's face grew pinched.

"Well, I'd have to bring the kids," Jack told her. "I don't know if you can mourn in peace with my children there."

"Surely the children are responsible enough to stay home by themselves," Eleanor shook her head. "Ivan is certainly capable of fending for himself."

"With all the things going on with Charlie, it's probably better if they're with me at all times," Jack shrugged. He leaned forward in his chair. "Would you like to come over for dinner at my house, instead, Eleanor? I have some wine, too, if you'd like to just sit out on the back porch and listen to the crickets."

Eleanor grinned now. "Your backyard has a much better view of the mountains than mine."

"Alright, it's settled," Jack smiled, making Eleanor's heart leap. "Come over around six-thirty."

"Thank you," Jack," Eleanor sighed contently, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

It was a miracle Rose was up in time to brush her knotted curls and change dresses before the first sitting for breakfast at seven-thirty sharp. Ruth was still insistent on using the dining room for every meal. When Albertson pushed her in, Rose could see a visible change in her physically, as if she was suddenly much more exhausted. Rose assumed it was because of all the socializing and the fact Ruth was constantly moving about. Breakfast consisted of poached eggs, scrambled for the children, a platter of sausage links, a wood block of cheese cubes, and a stack of belgian waffles with an imported bottle of Canadian syrup. Rose watched as young Jakey Astor drowned his waffles in the sticky goo. Her eyes then wandered towards the fireplace where Albertson was stoking it, despite the promise of a hot summer day just beyond the wall-length windows behind her.

"Albertson," Ruth's stone hard, yet weak, voice resounded down the table, making Rose's head snap towards her mother. Ruth was busy smothering cream cheese across her bagel, a flustered look on her face. Albertson paused from his task, gazing down the table at her. "Did all of those eggs get cleaned up from the front yard yet? The neighborhood will be stirring soon, we can't have them see that mess!"

"Yes, Mrs. Fischer," Albertson confirmed with a nod of his head. "The outside brick needed a good scrub anyway, ma'am."

"Oh no, what happened?" Madeleine asked, looking up from daintily cutting a sausage link.

"Nothing of matter," Ruth waved her hand dismissively. "Just some little punks who think it's funny to throw eggs at people's houses. I wouldn't be surprised if a couple other people received the treatment as well. Probably just some insecure jealous riff-raff."

Rose smirked, tilting her head back to drink some orange juice.


	38. A Pot Left on the Burner

Chapter Thirty-Eight

_July 9th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose felt like the days were dragging on so slowly. It was as if she hadn't seen her family in a lifetime. She was disappointed every time she looked outside the window and did not see majestic mountains. And she was sad every night Jack was not in the same bed as her. As the day grew into early afternoon, a knock came on the door, rousing Rose from perusing the bookshelves in the library. Ruth had been taking a nap on the couch, but was easily awakened by the knock, propping her head up. Rose arched her neck to catch the edge of the foyer. A large slice of sunlight cut across the foyer as Albertson allowed a woman in a green and yellow plaid shawl to enter. After a moment of silence, Madeleine's voice resounded from the platform at the top of the stairs.

Rose didn't care much to find out who the newest arrival was yet again. She returned to skimming down the spines of books. Her mother hadn't been exaggerating when she said majority of the books were about birds. But she knew Nathaniel was interested in military history. Rose could find a way to genuinely enjoy that to pass the time. But she was interrupted again when Madeleine came into the library with the mystery elderly woman in tow, plus Jakey and William.

"Rose, will you be using the private library upstairs this afternoon?" Madeleine asked, folding her gloved hands infront of her. Rose paused, looking away from the shelf.

"I don't think so, no," Rose shook her head. "I'm hopeful this room has _something _to read."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind," Madeleine told her. "This is Esther Labelle, the tutor I've hired for Jakey and William while we're here. She is quite excellent, so I'm told. Especially in arthimetic."

"Wait, how long do you plan on staying?" Rose asked, furrowing her brow.

"I figured well over a month," Madeleine shrugged. "We'll talk later, Rose. Let me show Esther to her new study with the boys."

Rose watched as the group squeezed out from the library, their shoes resounding across the marble floors. Rose turned back to the bookshelf, her cheeks flushed. She wouldn't have a chance for any alone time with Ruth. She had come at a terrible time. And she grew anxious at the idea of how long a month sounded in that moment. The past dozen months with Jack? Simple; they flew by far too quickly. A month at the Fischer estate with Madeleine? Terrifyingly long.

"Why did you ask her that?" Came Ruth's somewhat groggy voice.

Rose looked over her shoulder towards the couch, but she couldn't see Ruth. She just knew she was shivering cold, bundled up beneath her blankets. "I just thought it seemed unnecessary to hire a tutor. That's all."

There was the sound of shifting as Ruth propped herself upright, her somewhat hollowed-out face looking towards Rose. She let out an airy cough that rattled her thin frame. "I suppose you think you would be a better tutor?"

"What?" Rose shook her head. "I never said that, Mother. Please don't put words into my mouth."

Ruth smirked now. The exhaustion on her face was evident. It all still seemed so foreign to Rose. Like she couldn't believe that was really her mother in there, despite all the obvious signs it was. Ruth let out a short laugh. "You don't think I'll live for another month. That's it, isn't it?"

Rose sighed and looked towards the windows, which had the curtains drawn tightly shut. Ruth had spoken out loud what Rose didn't even want to think. How could Rose deny that it had been a thought that had crossed her mind on a daily basis since her arrival? She couldn't. She knew it was written all over her face. Ruth's scoff confirmed she had seen the message.

"You're not getting any better," Rose said softly, not daring to move from where she stood, perched up the short staircase from the sunken social area where her mother lay.

"I've been living with these conditions for nearly two years now," Ruth told her, sniffling slightly.

"Yes, and when did they get so bad, they confined you to a wheelchair?" Rose asked. "When did it start getting so bad, you couldn't even stand on the off-chance of falling and splitting your head open?"

"That's enough," Ruth shook her head. She dabbed gingerly at her nose. "Neither of us knows what will happen in a month." There was silence for a few moments. Ruth wrapped her quilt around her shoulders. "Besides, if I start showing signs of improvement, that will give you your cue to turn tail for Montana."

Rose's hands curled into fists. "You know, Mother... sometimes you say really unfair things. And sometimes, I don't think you comprehend that you can't just take them back. There is no un-saying any of these things. There may be forgiveness, but people will _never _forget."

And with that, Rose excused herself, heading towards the garden so the steam could dissipate from her ears.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

When Jack arrived home from the office, it was a quarter to six. Maggie had been working on a quilt in the living room with baby William acting as a weight for the squares. She promptly packed up when Jack came home and walked him through the vegetable and beef stew she had left simmering all day. Max was, again, petulant to the idea of leaving. He and Charlie had been experimenting with salt, vinegar, and baking soda all day. Charlie now had ambitions to build a volcano. Valentina had been busy at her desk all day by Maggie's reports. She had been writing something rather furiously, but wasn't willing to show anybody or talk about it.

Charlie was busy talking his father's ear off about the volcano he wanted to make all the while enjoying a Coca-Cola. Jack grinned as he stirred the stew, watching the potatos slowly soften up. It seemed like Charlie was unbothered by the appointment he had had that morning. That dreadful Charlie had grown into a scientifically-excited young boy throughout the day. It wasn't long before Jack could coax Valentina down with the promise of a soda, as well, and she chose orange, her favorite. As the kids enjoyed their sugary treats at the island, Jack continued to watch the stew for the perfect moment to remove the heat. He glanced over his shoulder at Valentina and Charlie, clearing his throat.

"We're going to have a guest for dinner tonight. I want you guys to be really nice and well-behaved, alright?" Jack told them.

"Who's coming over?" Valentina asked, lowering her glass bottle to the marble countertop.

"Mrs. Eleanor. You remember her, right?"

"Isn't that Ivan's mom?" Charlie furrowed his brow.

"It is, yes," Jack nodded, grabbing two dish towels. He promptly lifted the large pot, moving over to a cool burner and flicking the gas off. He turned towards the kids, his eyebrows arched. "Ivan will not be with her. Today is the anniversary of her husband's death. We're havin' her for dinner to be polite and take her mind off the gloom. Be a bright spot for me, please."

"Well... what do we say?" Valentina shrugged.

"Just have a normal conversation with her," Jack said. "And nobody should mention anything about dead people or zombies or whatever else you've read in your books." Jack tapped his palm against the countertop. "That reminds me... a little birdy told me someone was writing a storm up today. Tina, are you taking on the role of scribe with your mother gone?"

Valentina's cheeks grew rosy and she squirmed in her barstool. "Momma's gonna be the first one to read it."

"Good call," Jack nodded. "Those are good eyes to trust."

A curt knock on the door had Jack looking towards the clock. It was right on six-thirty. He ordered for the kids to set the table and get out the pitcher of lemonade Maggie had for them earlier while he went to answer the door. When he did, he was surprised to Eleanor had changed into a bright red dress with black lace work. The sweetheart neckline was just a bit shorter than her locket necklace, leaving the charm to become wedged in her cleavage. Jack hadn't changed. He hadn't thought to.

"Come in, come in, before the mosquitos get you," Jack said, stepping aside. She had put her hair up as well, taking the time to condition it so the curls looked vibrant, thick, and healthy. Her lipstick was as bright as her dress. Jack didn't have a great feeling about the idea after all. "Dinner's ready, you're just in time. You can leave your purse on the rack right there."

"Thank you," Eleanor said, hooking the strap up. "Mmm, it smells wonderful whatever you've made."

Jack grinned, leading the way towards the kitchen. "Actually, I didn't make it. Maggie did. She's really been helping me out during this whole ordeal." They came to pause over the oven, the aroma of the stew evoking a mouth-watering craving. "She made a vegetable and beef stew tonight. I'm pretty excited. My mom made this like clockwork every winter when I lived in Wisconsin." Jack then turned around, "Charlie, Valentina, say hello to Mrs. Eleanor."

Eleanor turned with the biggest grin, laying her eyes upon Jack's children. They were just finishing setting the table, being sure to fold the napkins in half. They smiled, in their awkward, impish, childish way, giving her a wave as well. In that moment for Eleanor, she decided to allow her mind to go blank. To forget about any of her life beyond the walls of that house. She wanted to imagine, for one night, that she had a normal loving family to eat dinner with every evening. She wanted, for once in her life, to have a man who would listen to her, instead of brush her off after a long day at work. She felt that, finally, that daydream was attainable. It was right here in her grasp. She could live it and love it.

"Well, let's eat," Jack said. "Tina, Charlie, bring me your bowls!"

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose laid sprawled out across the couch in her bedroom. She had spent majority of the hot and dry summer day pacing throughout the garden. She tried to focus energy into plotting on her projects back at home, but Rose felt like she simply couldn't focus. After becoming rather flushed beneath the sun, unhindered by clouds, Rose went back to her bedroom. Though it had been well over two hours, the tutor Esther was still hard at work preaching lessons to the boys in the library across the hall. Rose nearly rolled her eyes as she kicked the door shut behind her.

As she laid on that couch, she couldn't help but think about why the hell she was even there. Rose felt like a stranger to her own mother. It was as if _she _was the guest, intruding on the crucial final mother-daughter moments of Madeleine and Ruth. Everything Rose said was scoffed at, shot down, and met with bewilderment. Rose felt like an alien. And for the first time in ten years, the familiar self-doubt had come back to plague her. She was beginning to question herself.

_My family needs me back home, _Rose thought, staring vacantly at the vaulted ceiling above her. _Jack needs my help and I'm over here twiddling my damn thumbs in Pittsburgh. There's nothing for me to do. All I can do is wait... but can I really? Can I really stay here a whole month? No... I couldn't. That would be leaving Charlie's healing process entirely up to Jack. And besides, we have to get the kids ready to go back to school. I couldn't possibly be away from Jack for even another week. I'll go crazy._

Rose sat up and let out a huff. She glanced towards the clock, slowly watching it tick closer to dinner time. She was in no mood to have another feast. She refused to take part in a meal that was fit for a royal wedding. Rose couldn't possibly eat like that every day of the week. It was absurd and vain. She craved for a simple meal with her family again. Lemonade, spaghetti, and meatballs. Warm laughter ringing out. The passionate talk of her children's favorite past times. Rose ached as she thought about the impending dinner that awaited her; cold and quiet with only the scrapes of silverware to be heard.

_Leaving my dying mother prematurely would surely be my one-way ticket to Hell, _Rose thought to herself, clasping her hands together in her lap. _Unless... I've already secured my spot with everything else I've done. Now is not the time for a moral dilemma. This isn't about me... _Rose sighed, falling back into the mountain of throw pillows beside her. _I need a sign that I'm wasting my time. I need a sign to let me know it will be alright if I choose not to stick around for this if it becomes prolonged. If I do leave, though... I'll just be confirming to my mother that I was only looking for my opportunity to run back to Montana. What can I do about us, though? We're as damned as the Titanic was._

Rose came to her feet and wandered aimlessly around her room. She glanced out the window to see dark clouds looming on the distance. They were probably due for another storm that night. As she gazed out the window, the clock began to chime, signifying the top of the hour. Rose sighed. Dinner would be served shortly. Rose's eyes looked towards the sherbert sky that was slowly being overtaken by heavy gray clouds. Though she would have much rather ordered room service, Rose decided to change and get ready for dinner, so as not to exacberate any problems that were already brewing.

She crossed towards the dresser, pulling the drawer out to grab a fresh pair of stockings. But she stopped when she saw Jack's button-up neatly folded inside. Slowly, she reached for it, unfolding it and staring longingly at it. Rose brought the shirt to her face, gently inhaling. His aroma still covered it. Rose felt her whole body shake as she took in his smell. Everything about it was so warm and loving and comforting. She couldn't help herself. In the next moment, she burst into tears, falling back against her bed. She hugged the shirt closely, allowing it to absorb all her tears. It felt so good to release all the pent-up emotions she had been keeping to herself for the past couple days. The pressure that was inside of her was slowly released as it all leaked out of her eyes. Rose missed Jack, Valentina, and Charlie so fiercely. She didn't know how much longer she could stand to be cooped up in Ruth's house, watching her deny the inevitable end of her life. Her resistance to see herself as a mortal had left Rose feeling hopless to change. And she cursed herself, calling herself stupid, for thinking she was going to come here and have a real heart-to-heart with her mother.

Rose sniffled, rubbing at her swollen eyes as she sat on the edge of her bed. Jack's dress shirt was now crumpled in her lap and she hiccuped as she looked out the window with a cathartic gaze. She didn't know what to do. And she felt powerless to make a decision.

...

_Miles City, Montana_

Valentina and Charlie had disappeared to their bedrooms not long after dinner. Jack knew they probably were wiggling out of having to interact with their guest. They promised Jack they would watch the clock and also pinky promised they would brush their teeth and wash their faces before bed. Eleanor seemed to be in no rush to get home. It was obvious her household didn't have a typical bedtime routine. Jack decided a glass of wine would cap the evening off since he had advertised it to her beforehand. He brought the chilled diamond wine glasses out onto the back porch where Eleanor was sunk into a chair, simply staring off into the cool night. He extended her glass out towards her, snapping her from her trance.

"Oh, thank you very much," Eleanor said, tenderly accepting the glass by its thin stem. "What kind of wine is this?"

"It's a cherry wine from this farm outside of Chicago," Jack replied, easing himself down into the chair beside Eleanor. The back porch was dark, only slivers of light coming out between the curtains from the living room. A small fragrant candle burned between the two. "Rose and I visited it when we were on a business trip before the Great War and she never stopped ordering it."

"I hope she doesn't mind if we indulge a little," Eleanor grinned teasingly, taking her first sip. It was quite sweet and tarte, but Eleanor liked it and she gave Jack an approving nod. "Mmm, you know exactly what a girl needs to unwind from a day's work."

"Well, I don't like when people have bad days," Jack said after he took a drink of his wine. He licked his lips. "I know to you, today doesn't seem like a reason to smile, but I'll be damned if I don't try to give you one."

Eleanor smiled, casting her eyes down for a moment. Quickly, she took another sip of wine. "Jack, I really appreciate everything you've done for me this summer. Giving me that job at your office has really changed my whole life. You've been giving me a reason to smile every day."

"That's what having a tight-knit community is about," Jack nodded. "We help each other out."

"You've done more for me than anybody in this town ever has," Eleanor told him. "You've done more for me in the past month than Benjamin did for me in ten years."

"Oh, come on, that can't be true," Jack shook his head. "You're letting all the bad memories cover up the good ones. I'm sure you can think of a good time off the top of your head, right?"

"Maybe the day Benjamin got me out of that dead-end town I was living in," Eleanor shrugged, falling back against the cushion of her chair. "Everything else just seemed to go... wrong." She shook her head now as she recounted the years, cradling her wine glass close. "It's like we were never meant to be, Jack... but by the time we both found out, it was too late."

"How could it be too late?" Jack asked. "How could you just sacrifice your happiness like that?"

Eleanor took a drink of wine, pursing her lips pensively. "I was young... naïve... scared," She shrugged again. "I moved half-way across the country for him. I was hundreds of miles away from any relatives or friends. I felt like I couldn't just leave once I realized things weren't going to work out. It should have been a sign we were damned when we had a hard time having children together."

"I'm sorry you went through all of that," Jack said. To Eleanor, it felt so genuine.

"I've been out of the relationship now for as long as I was in it," Eleanor told him, swirling her wine around in her glass. "I think the worse part about it is that it still follows me to this day. Even though I feel like I've paid my dues and bided my time, I'm still being held accountable to it. I fear it will follow me for the rest of my life. It feels like I've lost twenty years of my life, Jack. Like I'm finally waking up for the first time and noticing everything around me."

"Well," Jack grinned. "It's never too late for change, Eleanor. The first step is recognizing the problem, which I think you have. This very may well be the last time July 9th bothers you ever again."

"If that's the case," Eleanor sat up straight. "Then it's all thanks to you."

"No, no," Jack laughed, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm not takin' credit for anything."

"You're so humble and modest," Eleanor leaned forward, setting her elbows to her knees. "You're almost entirely the complete opposite of what Benjamin was. It's almost... miraculous."

"What do you mean?" Jack furrowed his brow.

"That a man such as yourself exists. You, Jack Dawson," Eleanor said, her cheeks growing red. She remained confident, however, hoping to come across as bold. "You listen, you're a leader, you're a free-thinker. You uplift people. You bring out the best in those around you. You have an affect on every single person when you walk through the door. You're magnificent, Jack. The world needs more people like you."

Jack laughed sheepishly, casting his eyes down. "Well, I appreciate the kind words but I don't feel the same way about myself. I'm just your typical daydream believer. I'm like every other guy. I've got a family and a house and one measley hobby to occupy my time on the weekend."

Eleanor reached out, pressing her palm against Jack's knee. "You're so much more than that, Jack."

Jack tensed beneath her touch, gazing intently at her in the shadows of the porch. "Again, thank you. I'm glad you feel like you can tell me those things. It lets me know I'm being a good boss, at least."

"You're the greatest boss I've ever had," Eleanor said. "I'll never be able to thank you enough." Eleanor sprung forward, pressing her lips against Jack. He intially attempted to push away, but nearly tipped his chair over. Jack windmilled his arms, dropping his wine glass to the ground, where it shattered. He then reached for Eleanor's shoulders, pushing her away from him. He felt her lipstick stained across his lips and chin. Jack staggered to his feet, pacing away from Eleanor, his shoulders rising and falling. He slowly raked his hands through his hair and turned towards Eleanor.

"Why... did you do that?" Jack asked, nearly breathlessly. "Why would you think that's okay!?"

"I'm... I'm sorry!" Eleanor burst out, sheepishly running her hands over the wine staining her dress. "I'm just so lonely and... and I thought you were, too-"

"Eleanor, I'm _married. _I'm _happily married,"_ Jack told her, holding his arms out at his side. "Obviously this relationship crossed the unprofessional line somewhere along the way. I... I don't even know what to say."

Eleanor gazed down towards her stained dress, obviously at a loss of words. "I should leave," Eleanor said. Jack put his hands on hips, still reeling. He nodded, however, without looking at her. "I think I should take tomorrow off, too... to give you time to think."

Jack slowly raised his eyes to Eleanor. "Is it true about how you lost your job at the post office?"

Eleanor stopped where she was, remaining still for a few beats. "How did you hear about that?"

"You know there's eyes and mouths all over this town."

"Well, if we're coming clean, then yes... it's true. I tried the same thing," Eleanor nodded.

"_Why_?" Jack asked, nearly pleadingly. "If it didn't work the first time, why did you try again? You know that's definition of insanity, right? I have to tell Rose about what happened. Your job... it's... pending right now, Eleanor."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, please don't tell Rose. Things can go right back to the way they were. We can pretend none of it ever happened. Jack, if I lose this job- that's it. It's back to Kansas City for me."

Jack pursed his lips, his face growing apprehensive. "If you knew things were at stake, then why would you jeporadize things like this?! You can't blame me for you having to move, Eleanor. I've always been clear on my intentions. It's _you _being the snake in the grass. Don't be stupid. Things can never go back to the way they were."

Eleanor was hurt by Jack's words. She felt as if she had suffered a bout of déjá vü, however, from her previous job. Eleanor bit down her lip and nodded, somewhat robotically. "I'll go."

"Yes, please," Jack said, the blood in his veins throbbing harshly. He placed his hands on his hips, carelessly pacing through the sticky wine. He watched as Eleanor let herself out, hurriedly, trying to outrun the demons that followed her. Jack pursed his lips and shook his head. "Goddamit," He muttered, raking his hands through his hair again.


	39. Moral Dilemmas

Chapter Thirty-Nine

_July 9th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The howling storm outside kept Rose awake. She had all the curtains drawn, but the bright flashes of lightening could not be kept out. Each rumble of thunder shook Rose to her very core. The fireplace only had a low glow eminating from the hot coals that remained. Dinner had been unappetizing and unfulfilling. Crab cakes, lobster tails, ahi tuna slices, and honey-butter bread; it was so pretentious and far too much effort for a dinner on a Wednesday night. Rose tossed and turned in her poster bed like a fish out of water. She reached for the clock on her nightstand to see it was only a little after ten.

Rose got out of bed, pressing her barefeet to the cold marble floor. Her nightgown trailed behind her as she gathered wood from beneath the console table, tenderly tossing it into the fireplace with some crumpled up newspaper. Hungrily, the flames came alive again and Rose sank onto the couch to suffer through another lonely stormy night in Pittsburgh. She reached for the phone, however. She was so desperate to hear Jack's voice. She didn't care if she woke the children, either. She wanted to so badly be reminded of the Dawson's, who were eagerly awaiting her return to Montana. The longer the phone rang, the more Rose's hopes began to wane. If Jack had gone to bed, he wouldn't make it to the phone in time. She clung to each ring, losing more and more hope as the line continued to reach out. She was just about to replace the phone on the table when she heard a click.

"Hello?" It was Jack's voice, rather breathless.

"Jack, oh thank God, it's so good to hear your voice," Rose said, nearly melting all over the couch. "I miss you so much. I want to come home so badly."

There was a bit of shifting on the other side. She assumed he was sitting down on the couch and getting settled. "I'm so glad you called, darling."

"Are the children asleep?" Rose asked, her heart fluttering upon hearing his velvety voice.

"Well, they _should _be," Jack replied. "But you know how that goes. You know, Valentina has been writing a lot at her desk recently. Won't let any of us read it either. Says it's for your eyes first."

"Oh," Rose was so touched and she cradled the phone against her longingly. "That sweet girl. Did Charlie get his stitches taken out?"

"Yeah, this morning," Jack told her. "Without much fuss."

"So... he's doing okay?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," His voice said, huskily. "The kids just really miss you, Rose. Things aren't the same around here. It's different than when you're on a business trip. We know you're somewhere that makes you unhappy."

"I know..." Tears flooded Rose's eyes and she did her best to stay hushed.

"Rose... please, don't cry," Jack whispered. "I can't stand when you cry and I can't hold you..."

"Jack, I don't think I can stay," Rose told him, clearing her throat in hopes of getting rid of the pulsating throb in her vocal cords. "Things have _not _changed. If anything, they've deteriorated far more. There is no saying goodbye to my mother. She doesn't want it. I don't even think she knows she's dying. I'm so confused and it just feels like she's playing tricks on me, again, like all those years ago."

"Then come home, Rose," He said, rather strained. "Please, get the next train to Helena and _come home_. I _need _you."

"Jack..." She said slowly, her bleary eyes looking towards the fireplace. "What's happened? I can hear something in your voice. What's wrong?"

"This stuff with Valentina can't wait anymore," Jack told her. "It can't go left unsaid for another damn week. The Freedman's need to know. They deserve to know. And Charlie really could use a maternal touch during all of this recovery. Your homemade chicken noodle soup would work better than the blood of Jesus." A faint smile came across Rose's lips at this. "I don't want to over work Maggie and she won't listen to me anyway and keeps comparing herself to the wild mustangs of the plains. I feel like life is coming at me in all directions and I just... I can't even bring myself to say it."

"Say what?" Rose asked, sitting as straight as an arrow. Thunder rumbled overhead, making her shiver. "What's the final direction life is coming at you from?"

"Rose, I... It was..." Jack's voice floundered and Rose felt her insides constrict. "You were right, Rose. You were right this whole time and I just... I brushed it off."

"What was I right about?" Rose asked slowly, nearly breathlessly.

"Eleanor... she had, uh... those intentions," Jack cleared his throat sheepishly. "She kissed me."

"She _what_?" Rose's mouth dropped open.

"Let me explain, please," Jack told her. "Eleanor told me today was the anniversary of Benjamin's death. He _died _in that same house she still lives in today and she was anxious about being home alone that evening. So..."

"You invited her over for dinner because you're a kind human being," Rose nodded.

"Right," Jack replied. "The kids went off to their rooms and we just had a glass of wine and that's when she tried. I broke one of those crystal wine glasses you got imported from Germany just to get away from her. It was... it was awful. She thought _I _was lonely enough to sleep with her."

"Did the kids see or hear anything?" Rose asked.

"I don't think so," Jack told her. "At least, no one came out of their rooms to investigate. That's not the point. Rose, I'm really sorry. I... I shouldn't have invited her over like that. Not without you here to co-host. I just... I felt like I had to tell you."

Rose sunk into the couch, letting out a huff. "What a nightmare... I assume you're firing her?"

"I mean, I guess I have to, don't I?" Jack asked. "What if she does this to one of my other staff members or starts making false accusations? Reputations are on the line. We have some embedded local seasoned journalists in there. Some are still pretty young and impressionable. If I do fire her, though... she'll have to go back to Kansas City."

"Jack, that's not your burden to bear," Rose shook her head, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. "She is the one who made that decision. She knew you were married. But she did it anyway. It really speaks to her character, seeing as just a week ago she was sitting at our dining room table, talking to _me_."

"God, that feels like an eternity ago..." Jack sighed. "Are you really coming home sometime soon?"

Rose cast her eyes up towards the vaulted ceiling as it became illuminated by a bolt of lightening. "Would it be... _wrong_ to leave before she dies? She believes she still has months to live. And Madeleine expects to stay that whole time. What if my mother is right and next thing I know, it's Christmas and I'm still in Pittsburgh, missing out on the children's lives?" Rose pursed her lips for a moment. "What if I leave this week, though, and she dies next week, Jack?"

"But you said things hadn't gotten better," Jack replied. "You said she still puts you down, plays mind games with you; she _rejects _you, Rose. What would it matter if you left? Because you'd be proving her right? Well, let her be right. At least you tried."

"She's the only family I have left," Rose cocked her head towards the fireplace.

"Rose, you have a family, in Montana," Jack said. "A family that genuinely loves and adores you. We're going to have a parade when you get back. Not some crummy stuffy dinner. No, we're gonna get milkshakes and go to the park!"

Rose smiled and tears misted her eyes again. "That sounds so wonderful, Jack. I just want to hold you and the kids in my arms again. I want to make people food. I want to sit on the back porch and have some lemonade and get mosquito bites..."

"Your typewriter is gettin' a little dusty, too," Jack told her.

Rose laughed, curling her cold up beneath a throw pillow. "Yes, it will feel good to write again, too."

"So... you're going to get a ticket?" Jack asked, slowly.

"I want to, Jack."

"I know you're having a moral dilemma," He said cooly and evenly. "I understand, Rose, that it's hard to choose without knowing the outcome. But I want you to choose to be happy, like you have been, for the past ten years. Say your goodbyes on _your _terms. Ruth can take it or leave it. She never deserved to have a daughter like you, anyway, Rose."

Rose was quiet for a few moments, listening to the storm beat against her windows. "I have to think about it, Jack. About everything. I want to come home, I really do. But I need to come to terms with the fact that when I walk out this door... I'll never see my mother again."

"I love you, Rose," Jack said tenderly. "Whatever you have to do... do it. I'll keep holding things down over here as best I can. I know I'm doing a pretty shitty job, though."

"You were left with a really shitty situation," Rose told him. "And the whole Eleanor-thing... don't worry about it, Jack... I trust you. And I love you, too." There was a comfortable silence between the couple for a few beats. "You should go to bed. It's late."

"What about you?" Jack asked. "Are you going to bed?"

Rose turned her head towards the tall windows. The storm howled and grumbled. "I'll try. I just... have a lot to think about."

"Try to sleep. For me."

Rose nodded, pursing her lips together to stop them from quivering. "I will. For you."

...

_July 10th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack arrived to the office just before nine in the morning. It was turning into crunch time for the first deadline of main page articles. Several of the journalists were already hard at work typing, retyping, and constructing their articles to pile onto Jack's desk. Only two photographers had come in. They still had time to work on their portion. Williamson was at his desk, as usual, and smiled politely to Jack when he saw him show up. Williamson could tell Jack was stressed by his forced smile, but chalked it up to the fact that his boss had never really been a morning person. Most of his meetings weren't held until well after eleven in the morning. Jack brushed by without a word, heading straight into his office.

When he entered, it was quiet and empty. He barely even glanced towards the tall stack of papers pending his approval. He went straight to the corner of the office, reaching for a box containing a few old prints of magazines. Carelessly, Jack dumped the magazines all over the floor and hauled the box outside of his office, thunking it on Eleanor's desk. Immediately, he began packing up her pens, her knick-knacks, the few pictures she had. Anything that looked personal, Jack put it in the box. He didn't even care if he gave her some supplies that actually belonged to the office. He simply wanted it out. He snagged her nameplate off the edge of her desk, tossing it on top of the stuff cluttered in. Jack pulled it into his arms and turned around, facing Williamson's desk, who was already staring at him.

"My office, please," Jack said, using his head to nod towards the door. His assistant promptly got to his feet and followed Jack in, closing the door after them. Jack dropped the box of trinkets on the ground against the wall and walked towards his desk, leaning against it. Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "Eleanor isn't going to work out, afterall."

"Really?" Williamson arched his bold brow. "I have to say, Jack, I'm surprised. Her new filing system is excellent and she was quite efficent. She was much better than that Gabi-girl we used to have."

"Yeah, well, you remember Wally..." Jack smirked at the fond memories. "He liked to hire pretty girls. Not one's that necessarily wanted to or knew how to do the work."

"May I ask what happened?" Williamson turned his head slightly to the side.

Jack was quiet for a few moments, hunching his shoulders. "I, uh... I guess she forgot I was married. Let's leave it at that."

"Ah," Willamson nodded. "Yes, sir. Shall I put out a classified listing for the spot?"

"No, no," Jack shook his head. "Hold off on that for now."

"May I remind you that we are about to hit peak crunch-time at the office to get the August edition wrapped up?" Williamson told him. "You need an assistant specifically for you, Jack. You know I'm busy with the interns most days."

"I got it under control, Williamson," Jack insisted. "I think I have an idea."

"Well, I shall let you think on that," Williamson said, heading towards the door. "I have a few camera repairs to make. You have a meeting with the interns in regards to printing press at a quarter to noon and you have that couple coming in about that line-girl spread for their speakeasy at two-thirty. Got it?"

"Got it," Jack nodded, heading towards his chair to, for once, get some work done.

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

When Rose opened her eyes, she faintly heard the sound of birds tweeting. She propped herself up on elbow, groggily looking towards the window. Fresh bright sunlight was begging to spill through. Another beautiful day following a dreadful night. Rose sighed, falling on her side and gazing towards the clock on her nightstand. It read six minutes after seven. Rose considered it a slight victory of sleeping in past seven, no matter how few minutes it actually was. She lay there for a few moments more, curled up beneath the bedsheets. She missed waking up in the morning and feeling Jack's warm strong arms wrap around her. She missed feeling his hot breath against her ear. If she imagined just right, she could feel his calloused fingers running down her skin, as if they didn't have a busy morning ahead of them with getting breakfast on the table and everyone out the door on time.

She sighed when she realized that breakfast would be served soon. Slowly, Rose rolled out of beds. She ran a brush through her bedridden curls, pinning her framing bangs back with a clip. She lightly dusted her face and put herself into a pale yellow and white dress. Rose took her time throwing all the curtains back in her room and she stopped to stare out the window. Nothing to see but boring Pittsburgh. As Rose turned towards the door, she nervously ran her palms along her skirt.

_Please, someone... give me a sign, _She thought as she smoothly pushed through the door into the hallway. When Rose stepped out of the room, she was surprised to see young Jakey Astor slid down against the wall, hunched over a book with a piece of toast in hand. He looked up with arched eyebrows when he heard her movement.

"Good morning, Jakey," Rose said cordially. "Is your tutor on the way?"

"Yes, Mother said any moment," Jakey glanced down the hallway, his dark hair tumbling down his forehead.

"But what about breakfast?" Rose asked. "Surely you're joining us. You need the brain power."

"Albertson brought me my breakfast early," Jakey replied, lowering his eyes back to his book. "William will be there. This morning is algebra. My little brother is far too young for that lesson."

"Well, I hate to think about you being cooped up all day to study," Rose told him. "It's a beautiful day outside. A boy like yourself should be out there enjoying it."

Jakey took a bite out of his toast, quickly wiping the crumbs away. "My mother says my skin is too fair. I'll burn like a crisp."

Rose could almost sigh. Her mother had told her the same thing. Rose decided to stop pestering Jakey. He obviously was brushing up on material before Esther arrived. Rose continued downstairs and entered the dining room, where Ruth was alone, sitting at an empty table. She was slightly crumpled forward, like a bag losing air. Her hand was lightly touching her temple. Rose stopped in her tracks, observing her mother from the archway. It was obvious the woman didn't feel good. She wasn't aware of Rose's presence. Rose knew her mother too well. Her symptoms would magically dissipate once Madeleine made it downstairs. Rose was surprised to see she was the first person.

Quietly, she cleared her throat and fully entered the room. "Good morning, Mother," She said, making Ruth perk to attention. "Are you feeling alright today?" Rose asked, coming to stand beside her.

"Fine, fine," Ruth waved her hand dismissively.

"Are you sure?" Rose asked. "Maybe I can get you-"

"I said I'm fine," Ruth said sharply. "Just sit down and wait for breakfast. It should only be a few moments now." Rose pursed her lips for a moment before complying. She sunk down in the chair closest to Ruth and pressed her back into it, sitting like an arrow. Ruth had deep bags under her eyes. It looked as if she hadn't been sleeping. "I'm surprised you keep showing up for every meal."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

"I know you think they're awful and gaudy," Ruth replied. "You see them as a waste of your time."

"Well, that's one assumption," Rose trained her eyes down towards the table.

"I certainly don't see you denying it," Ruth sunk into her wheelchair, touching her head again. She winced in pain for a moment before shrugging it off. "What would you be doing at this time at home?"

Rose glanced towards the clock. 7:26am. "Making breakfast," She replied, looking to Ruth again. "Jack would be waking the children up."

"Why didn't you ever hire help?" Ruth asked, digging her cold hands into the bundle of quilts surrounding her. "You and Jack have plenty of room to house another person."

"Because I can take care of it myself," Rose said, shrugging. "I work from home. I'm lucky I can balance my job and household chores so easily. We don't need another set of hands."

Ruth looked quite smug for a moment. "You do everything the exact opposite way I do. Is that to... send a message?"

Rose looked across the room to the windows, watching a gentle warm breeze move the lush and vibrant foliage. Rose felt a weight in her chest. A feeling of not belonging. In that moment, she felt about herself the same way she had when she was meerly seventeen years old. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to partake. Rose felt so exhausted already, barely twenty minutes into her day. And it reminded her of the life she had been living not too long ago.

Slowly, Rose looked towards her waiting mother. "I'm beginning to suspect you don't like having me at every meal."

"Don't say such proposterous things," Ruth scoffed, shaking her head. She stopped abruptly, however, when it sent her mind for a whirl. "I'm simply just trying to make conversation."

"Is that your idea of conversation?" Rose asked, furrowing her brow and hunching her shoulders. "I feel like I'm on trial for murder. Why can't we talk about your garden? Or... I don't know, perhaps a hobby you've taken up since you've fallen ill?"

"That's not conversation," Ruth clucked. "It's small-talk and shallow. It's what you do with strangers at the post office."

"I can't say I'm more than a stranger at the post office to you."

Ruth's lips drew into a thin line. "You woke up with quite the bold tongue on you this morning."

Rose set her elbows on the table. She didn't care how blasphemous it looked. Slowly, Rose picked at her nail. "I guess I've really just been thinking, Mother. And I feel like we need to talk."

"Alright," Ruth shrugged, obviously annoyed. "Then let's talk, Rose."

Just then, the sound of leather loafers to the marble floor rung out and a young energetic William appeared. A few moments later, Madeleine did as well, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with baby John in her arms. "Good morning!" Madeleine sung out, unaware of any tension in the room.

"This evening," Rose told her. Ruth gave Rose a hard look for a moment more before she cracked a smile and gazed toward Madeleine. Rose watched her smile carefully, taking note of every muscle used to pull her lips. She then lowered her eyes to the table, waiting for her dreadful meal to be served.


	40. Bridge Hopping

_Author's Notes: I know I said I'd be wrapping up in ten chapters, but did you really believe me?_

Chapter Forty

_July 10th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack gently closed the office door behind him as he resigned from work for the day. The evening time had grown humid and rather unpleasant. The sherbert sun beat against the back of his neck as he walked away from _Dazzling People, Nature, and Art, _whistling quietly to himself. He smiled politely and nodded his head towards those he passed. Jack recognized quite a few of them from events around town or simply through their children. Some days, Jack forgot how much time had elapsed since he and Rose had made roots in Miles City. He had lived in Montana for almost as long as he had in Wisconsin. They weren't too many years off now.

Jack walked right past his neighborhood, fleetingly glancing down the road. Not many kids were in the street. It was miserable outside and dinner time was setting in. He continued up the next three roads and then paused at the house on the corner with the shaggy yard and multiple toys thrown onto the roof. He sighed, looking down at the box of things in his arms. Jack hated doing this. It was easily the worst part of his job. But Jack knew there was no other option after what she had done. She was trouble, simply put; a small fire teetering on dangerous that Jack had to extinguish.

Jack sighed again as he pushed through her creaky gate and wandered up the path, gently knocking on the door. His heart thudded in his chest as he counted the seconds that passed. He almost hoped no one was home. Leaving the box on the door stoop seemed like an ample message. But unfortunately, lights were on in the house, and he could hear movement just on the other side. Finally the door floor open and Eleanor appeared. She hadn't done anything to her hair that day. It simply fell naturally all over her shoulders, framing her face. She was wearing a plain green cotton dress with a homemaker's apron tied over it. Her face was not vibrant with cosmetics, either. It seemed she had intended to stay inside all day. Eleanor seemed surprised to see Jack and he could visibly see her hand shaking on the doorknob.

"Hi, Eleanor," Jack said, feeling his face heat up and an awkwardness encase him. "I, uh, just wanted to bring you everything from your desk. Pens, trinkets, cardigans..." Slowly, he extended his arms out with the box. Gingerly, Eleanor pulled it into her arms, balancing it on her hip. "Just let me know if I forgot anything."

Eleanor scanned over everything piled inside the carboard box and looked towards Jack. "So... this makes it official? I'm... fired?"

Jack jammed his hand into his pocket and pursed his lips. He tightened his grip on his cane. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. It's obviously not going to work out. Thank you for all the hardwork you did, but... this is where it ends."

Eleanor set the box on the table beside the door and glanced down the hallway. She stepped out onto the porch with Jack, closing the door. "Ivan's eating dinner. I don't want him to hear this."

"Well, that's all I had to said. You can get back to dinner with your son, I'm sorry for interrupting," Jack told her, turning for the stairs. Eleanor grabbed his forearm, however, making him stop.

"Jack, you can't deny I am good at my job. That filing system still needs things done to it to make it fully work. I imagine the holiday season is very busy with _lots _of papers," Eleanor told him. "Please, please, let me keep my job. I love it there, all the people and what we're doing. I'll move my desk elsewhere."

"Eleanor, the filing system is in _my _office," Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, but the answer is no. I... I can't trust you." Eleanor felt so hurt by these words. "After what you did, it's not fair to Rose that you get to keep working in such close proximity with me. It's a shame," Jack shrugged. "You were good at your job."

"I promise to-"

"No," Jack stepped away from Eleanor, out of her grasp. "It's not up for debate, Eleanor."

"But Jack... what will I do?" Eleanor croaked, tears springing to her eyes.

Jack sighed, raking his hand through his hair. "Whatever's best for your family, Eleanor. It's not up to me, it's up to you. You need to take charge and get your boy help. He has anger problems and he's goin' down a dark path. This job is not your priority. Ivan is."

Eleanor glanced to the door as her tears streaked down her cheeks. Nervously, she wrung her hands together. "He doesn't want to change. He says he's happy."

"Oh, bullshit," Jack shook his head, making Eleanor's head snap towards him. "Who's the parent, Eleanor? Step in and lay down the law."

"I could never-"

"Why?" Jack shrugged. "Is it because he scares you? Threatens you?" Eleanor was quiet, her brow furrowed. Jack glanced towards the sky. The faintest of stars were beginning to break through the swirling sherbert sky, accented in fluffy white clouds. He then looked at Eleanor. "You're going to have to figure that out, Eleanor. Like we all do with everything in life. All I know is... you're fired."

Eleanor nodded meekly and gripped the railing of the small porch. She let out a slow exhale and rubbed at the tear streaks on her cheeks."I'm sorry, Jack," Eleanor said, her voice scratchy and exhausted. "For everything. When you offered me that job... something just clicked in me at that moment. I felt like... God was showing me something."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked. "I'm sorry, I'm not religious. I don't know what that means."

Eleanor grinned weakly and looked over her shoulder at Jack. "It just felt like a sign that you were something my life was lacking. That you were the answer to so many of my problems. When you offered me that job on the patio, the cloud cover broke and a perfect golden ray of sunshine fell all over you and you looked... like an angel..." Eleanor lowered her eyes to her slippers.

"But you knew I was married and that I had a family," Jack shook his head. "What indicated to you that I was ever interested in something like an affair?"

"Well," Eleanor sighed unevenly. "I guess, in the end, nothing ever really indicated anything. You just kept doing these little acts of kindness, again and again. Listening, praising... you were so caring. The opposite of everything Benjamin was. I felt so comfortable with you. I just thought... maybe you wanted something different after ten years. Like I did."

"I'm sorry," Jack said, taking the first step down the porch. "I only want to be with Rose." And with that he continued down and walked towards the street, ready to head home, unwind, and have a glass of whiskey. Eleanor watched him go longingly and she bit down on her lip. Her feelings for him were still so strong but she knew she had to let them go. She glanced around her yard for a moment before she sighed, turning to return to a quiet dinner with a son.

...

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose had spent the rest of the afternoon in her room at the small writing desk that was tucked beside the french doors to the patio. Rose had those doors open to allow a gentle draft in. It was a rather mild summer night. On the distance, the familiar rain clouds were back for another rowdy night in Pittsburgh. Rose wanted to soak up the summer air and sun for however long as possible. She had been furiously writing down all of her thoughts and brainstormed points she wanted to make when she spoke to Ruth. Rose had decided she was no longer waiting for a sign. She was provoking one.

When the air wafting into her room began to smell overwhelmingly of rain, she knew it was time to seek her mother out. Rose closed the doors, looking towards the darkening sky. It was as if something terrible was being summoned for a battle against her mother. Rose glanced to her notes one last time but ultimately decided to leave them behind. Rose stepped out into the hallway and distantly heard the familiar crow-like voice of Esther the tutor. Rose could hardly believe the boys still had lessons after dinner time. She felt that to be a very special quiet-time and leisure-hour for her family.

Rose descended the stairs quietly in her stockinged feet and spotted Albertson. He was spraying down the entry way windows, all the while eyeing the brewing storm with exasperation. Though Rose thought she was being stealthy, Albertson looked over his shoulder and grinned at her.

"Good evening, Rose," Albertson said, spritzing the window in mist and then rubbing his rag in a circle. "It looks like we're going to have another dreadful night."

"Unfortunately so," Rose said, pausing and placing her hands behind her back. She stood next to Albertson and gazed out the window at the pulsating and ravenous storm that had now come directly over them. "I usually enjoy thunderstorms."

"Really?" Albertson asked, pausing from wiping the window. "I find them awfully alarming."

"At my house, when thunderstorms like this come about, I always remember hearing my children squealing and their little feet running down the hallway. I liked the thunderstorms because then they would come cram themselves into our bed and we could all sleep together," Rose smiled, lowering her eyes. "They're old enough now to simply sleep through them."

"What a cherished memory," Albertson grinned. "You're a wonderful mother, Rose."

"Speaking of which," Rose turned to Albertson and arched her eyebrows. "Is mine in the library?"

"Yes, yes. I brought her some peppermint tea but ten minutes ago."

Rose began towards the hallway but found herself stopping abruptly. She clenched her hands into fists for a beat and ground her teeth together before she turned back to the butler again. "Albertson, I'm sorry to interrupt you."

"No, no," Albertson turned from his task. "I am at your service, Rose."

"I know you're not a medical expert but I was wondering if you had an estimate for how much longer... my mother could possibly live for?" Rose asked, swallowing roughly. Albertson straightened up, lowering his towel and spray bottle to his side.

"I wouldn't say more than a month. She's had a fever she's been unable to shake now for two days," Albertson replied.

Rose looked to the archway leading towards the hallway. "I knew she wouldn't have told me. Thank you, Albertson." Rose turned and began her final steps to the library. Her heart rate accelerated as she went down the hallway and slowly appeared in the entrance for the library. The curtains had not been shut yet. The looming storm would, at any moment, release its sheets of rain down onto the earth. But at the present, it only stewed and swirled. Ruth was stretched out across the couch with a cup of tea sunk in her lap. She looked so small in the bundle of quilts. Her eyes gazed at the fire, nearly in a trance. "Mother...?" Rose said gently, emerging from the tall shadows cast by the fireplace. Ruth perked up and looked with large hollowed out eyes towards the sound of Rose's voice.

"I suppose you're here... to talk?" Ruth asked, settling back into her quilts. She took her time draping them over her shoulder. "Make yourself a cup of tea. I don't wish to dump all of it down the drain." Rose hesitated, watching the brewing storm outside, before she seated herself on the couch opposite of her mother. She poured herself a cup of piping hot tea, aware of her mother's eyes watching her every move. Rose droped two sugar cubes in and stirred hurriedly, watching the sugar slowly disappear from her eyes. She then looked across the table at her mother as a loud rumble of thunder rolled through. "What is it you would like to talk about?"

Rose sat up straight, crossing her ankles together. She set her tea cup in her lap and contemplated her words. She had nearly pieced an entire speech together throughout the afternoon, but now she found herself struggling to think of one thing to say to her mother. Rose slowly opened her mouth part-way, but no noise came out. She took a sip of tea to distract herself and she shuffled about in her mind, trying to decide on one simple cohesive sentence. It was as if she had forgotten her own language.

Ruth stared pointedly at her daughter. "Your family needs you. That's it, isn't it? Jack is no match to head the household without you."

"He can do it by himself," Rose insisted. "I don't want him to, though. Mother, how long is my stay going to last? When does my room expire?"

"It's been five days," Ruth gazed towards the fire. "And already, you act like I've imprisoned you, like a little bird in a cage. Feh, you're free to go whenever you'd please," Ruth waved her hand, giving her tea a curt sip. "Whatever you think is good enough to bade your sick mother off."

Rose was quiet as she drank her tea. Her cup clanked against the saucer as she set them down on the coffee table. "How long do you, personally, believe you have left to live?" Rose asked, tilting her head. A curl fell across her cheek.

Ruth looked at Rose with a face that was stonehard. But after a few moments, her eyes grew slightly misty and she shook her head in disdain.

"Why are you crying?" Rose was rather alarmed and sat forward on the couch, nearly reaching her hand across the coffee table. She stopped herself short of touching Ruth.

Ruth was able to make her tears recede just as quickly and she sighed, obviously frustrated. "I don't want you to be here when I die." Rose furrowed her brow.

"So... you do want me to leave?" Rose asked. A bolt of lightening flashed overhead. "May I ask why?"

"I don't want you to see me," Ruth said evenly. "I don't want you to bury me. Rose, I deserve to be condemned. Doomed to be buried with no one in attendance besides a priest. And it will rain. I don't want you there. I don't want you to be the only one. Because you'll just accept all the anguish."

Rose's eyes slowly looked into her mother's. "But Madeleine and her children _should _see this?"

"Only Madeleine," Ruth said, sinking into her throw pillow. She took a sip of tea and looked at the storm. She nearly bated the rain to fall now. "The boys are busy with school now anyway."

"Why is it okay that Madeleine sees you this way but your own daughter can't?" Rose asked. "Is this why you've been so cold to me? Because you're trying to make me leave so you can really die in peace? You don't think me and you occupying the same room could ever be peaceful?"

"Rose, that's just the thing," Ruth sighed, tilting her head back to gaze at the skylights in the slanted ceiling. "Madeleine isn't family. She's not my daughter. It's different. She's going to burn my body and send you the remains. She will take care of it so you don't have to do anything at all. I don't want you to see anything."

Rose's eyes darted everywhere for a moment before landing on her mother. "You're going to be cremated? Why not take the plot beside Father? They said they would keep it for you."

"Gosh no," Ruth scrunched her nose up. "I have no desire to be a DeWitt Bukater anymore."

Rose grinned weakly. "Something we both have in common."

Ruth smirked but only for the shortest second. "Nathaniel will not lay beside me. He has plenty to choose from. I've chosen, for myself, to be cremated. Burying me would be a waste of space."

"Mother, no, that's so-"

"I want you to go home," Ruth told her, her eyes growing serious. "I'm not getting any better. The fever and chills are only getting worse. I wish for you to leave from here. Say goodbye and go."

They fell into silence as, finally, the rain was released. It came pounding down on the house. The foliage scaratched against the windows as the ravenous breeze burst between whatever stood in its way. The lightening lit the sky up in a neverending show.

"We are... never going to see each other again, Mother," Rose said, very slowly and unsure.

"It should make things easier for you," Ruth replied.

"It's just hard to accept that... I won't have a mother anymore. I can't just call you on the phone. You'll simply... cease to exist," Rose shook her head. "You've always consistently been in my life, in the same spot I could always expect to find you in. It will feel so awful having that gone; seeing a hole."

Ruth took a slow sip of tea. She lowered the cup just below her lips. "Fill it with something better."

Rose shook her head. "You don't just replace your mother with 'something better'."

"Well," Ruth sunk into her quilts and yawned widely. "It's easily the case in your situation. You've got a lot going on for yourself. I'm surprised you could even sacrifce six of your days to come see me."

Rose sighed and lowered her head. "This summer has been very different for our family this year," Rose nodded. "Much more busy. The kids are involved in new things around the town. It's a very pivotal time in life for both of them. Double digits... nearly teenagers," Rose shook her head. "I'm needed at home. Especially before they start getting ready to go back to school."

"Go tonight if you have to," Ruth said, staring into the fire. "Get a head start. The Helena train departs a quarter after eleven." Rose lifted her eyes to the clock. Nine forty-five. "It's your best bet."

"It's too soon," Rose shook her head. "I'll take the next one tomorrow."

"You need to take the train tonight," Ruth insisted, turning her head towards Rose. "That's the train that you need to take. Don't wait for another. Go now. Go, Rose." Rose's eyes hovered and scanned all over her mother's face. She looked so insistent through her exhaustion. Ruth reached towards the table and rung her small bell over and over again. Albertson appeared a few moments later from the kitchen. "Please start packing all of Rose's things. She has a train to catch."

"In this weather, Mrs. Fischer?" Albertson wearily eyed the windows that were covered in rain.

"Albertson, yes, please," Rose came to her feet, her eyes lingering on her mother for a moment more. Quickly, she shook her head and faced Albertson. "I could use your help. Please, come with me. Urgently." And with that, Rose and the butler left the library, leaving a pensive Ruth who contemplated over her warm peppermint tea.


	41. A Lifetime of Goodbye's

Chapter Forty-One

_July 10th, 1922_  
_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Rose ushered Albertson into her suite, closing the door behind her. All the curtains had been left open and from all the directions, the storm raged on around the young woman and butler. Rose glanced towards the clock as it ticked closer to ten o'clock hour. She reached into the closet beside the door, fishing her empty luggage case out. She hauled it to the bed and paused, looking at Albertson.

"I don't need you to pack anything. There's so little, I can do it myself," Rose told him, already hustling back to the closet, where she snagged her dresses down. The hangers swung back and forth, clattering against each other.

"You're really leaving tonight?" Albertson asked, obviously confused. He watched Rose walk back and forth between the closet and bed. "Rose, please reconsider. The storm outside is absurdly strong. I have no chauffuer to take you anywhere. I cannot allow you to walk in these conditions."

Rose hurriedly began folding her dresses, dropping them into her luggage. She glanced to Albertson. "I'm sorry, there is no reconsidering. I must go. My family needs me, Albertson." Slowly and gingerly, she set another dress into her luggage and paused, her eyes hovering over her packed clothes. "My mother obviously doesn't. But that's what I must speak to you about." Rose turned towards the butler.

"I am listening," Albertson confirmed as Rose rushed to grab her stockings and underwear. She gathered them into her arms and brushed past Albertson, dropping them into the crate. She then stopped and turned to face him, clasping her hands together rather grimly.

"I'll just preface with saying my mother doesn't want me here when she dies, Albertson. She communicated that clearly," Rose said with an even voice. "And I feel like, in some way or another, we've managed to say everything we wanted to. I feel there's nothing left to say, so I must make my leave for the train that leaves a quarter after eleven. With hope, I'll get to make my children breakfast in just a few days." Rose smiled weakly, but it faltered just as quick.

"I suspect you haven't told me the most important part," Albertson said, turning his head to the side to watch a bolt of lightening rip through the clouds. Rose closed her eyes momentarily as the room was illuminated. The earth-shaking thunder followed soon after.

"When my mother was talking to me... there was an edge to her voice, Albertson. The faintest edge that... I don't know," Rose shrugged. "Maybe I'm crazy, but something about her tone began to frighten me, Albertson. It hinted at..." Rose shook her head.

"I know what you're talking about," Albertson told her, meeting her clouded green eyes. "Mrs. Fischer has a therapist. I have... heard things from her session."

"My mother speaks with a therapist?" Rose's eyebrows knitted together. "Since when? I must say, I'm awfully surprised she would acknowledge there's even a problem to begin with."

"Mr. Fischer insisted beginning in mid-1920, when it became evident her health and mental state were at the beginning stages of decay," Alberton replied, placing his hands behind his back. "Before any of the vertigo or mild common colds began, she would awake in the middle of the night in screaming and crying fits. It would take hours to calm her down. She began crying incontrollably for no reason at all. Mr. Fischer demanded she have a therapist and... well, the therapist countinues his councel with Mrs. Fischer."

Rose gnawed on her lip for a moment and flipped her trunk shut, locking it firmly. "I just keep learning more and more about that woman. It's like I never knew her."

"You must understand, Mrs. Fischer is-"

"I know, I know," Rose shook her head and sighed. "Stubborn, petulant, prideful, immortal..." Rose straightened up and watched the storm for a moment. "This is why I can't stay, Albertson. There is no more time to learn anything else. Those years were gone, wasted. I raised a family during that time. Which she turned a blind eye to. So many letters I wrote that went unanswered." Rose felt tears pricking at her eyes. "I don't care to know anything else, Albertson. Only when she passes. You'll call me... won't you?"

"Rest assured, I will," Albertson nodded.

"You cannot let her go prematurely, Albertson," Rose's eyes were wet as she approached the tall man. "That edge to her voice, you can't let her act on it. Her own sister did the same. My mother always disapproved. Don't let her mind win. Simply make her understand."

"Please," Albertson took hold of her slender hands, gently patting them. "Leave everything to me."

"I know my time here was brief," Rose exhaled unevenly. "But I appreciate everything you did for me while I was here, Albertson."

"Well, you were not the most typical guest," Albertson grinned, making Rose laugh. "But I am trained well and have seen much in my years as a butler, dear Rose. I manage to make everyone comfortable, no matter how hard of a nut they are to crack."

"Thank you," Rose told him, her voice pinched. She surged forward, wrapping her around Albertson as thunder rang out overhead again. Albertson was surprised. He couldn't remember the last time in ten, twenty, or even thirty years when a guest or master of an estate hugged him. Slowly, he looped his arms around her wiry body and glanced out the window, where the panes were getting a thorough washing.

"You should be on your way. I have a raincoat from Mrs. Fischer's closet that I'm sure she won't mind parting with. An umbrella as well. It's nearly a half past ten," Albertson parted from Rose and walked towards the door. "I'll meet you in the front foyer in five minutes." And with that, he left a small Rose to stand meekly in the grand suite with the storm raging around her.

A flash of lightening shook Rose back to reality and she gazed around the foreign room to be sure she had not forgotten anything. After she was sure her trace had been swiped from the room, she grabbed her luggage and hauled it to her side, heading for the door. The glint of the black phone sitting on the coffee table stopped her in her tracks. She considered briefly if she should phone Jack and let him know she was returning. She decided, however, there was no time and Jack was probably already in bed. Or at least, she hoped he was.

Rose hurried down the long hallway, as if at moment it was going to swirl into a never ending corridor of no return. Her luggage brushed against a pedastool, nearly making it topple over. The hallway, on a stormy night, was so suffocating. Rose felt like the walls were going to swallow her up and never allow her to leave the estate. A terrible chill seeped in her bones as if she had been plunged into the freezing high waters of third class again. A large flash of lightening filled the foyer as she came onto the platform at the top of the stairs. She gazed with large, but exhausted eyes, at the outdoors as it briefly looked like daytime. When she looked over the railing of the stairs, she saw Albertson patiently waiting with a few things in his arms.

When Albertson saw her, he immediately came to attention, meeting her at the base of the stairs. First, he handed her a small bag. "Some food. Apple slices, peanut butter, crackers, cheese, and some sausage." Then he held out a long black raincoat that glimmered in the dim lighting of the house. Slowly, Rose pulled into it, remembering when her mother had purchased it. It fit rather well, not too tight. Albertson held the umbrella out to her, the final thing. "I wish you the safest journey."

"Thank you, Albertson," Rose said, rather breathlessly. She reached out, taking the handle of the umbrella into her palm. Touching it sealed her fate, she decided. There was no option to turn back. Rose was leaving. And she was never going to see her mother again. It still hadn't sunk in. In the moment, it didn't affect Rose one way or the other. Rose began towards the door, her luggage beating against her hip. She paused just short of the doorknob. "Please take care of yourself, Albertson." Rose looked at him. "I want you to get more sleep."

"I want you to do the same," Albertson grinned.

"I'll sleep better when the mountains are surrounding me," Rose said. "You should come visit us sometime... not as a butler. But, rather, a guest. I think you'd like Miles City."

"That sounds nice, Rose."

She faintly smiled and then shifted the weight between her feet. There was no more stalling. She had to get a move on before the rush was all for nothing. Rose opened the door and unfurled her umbrella, shielding herself from the cold flecks of water that got her beneath the awning of the porch. The wind howled, sending the rain in all sorts of directions. It was rather cold and Rose's curls whipped around the frame of her face as she hurried down the porch. The umbrella wasn't able to stop everything. The cold sheets of rain pelted against her thighs. Beneath her coat, the rain splattered from the pavement, soaking the hem of her dress through to her stockings. A layer of mist coated her face as she braved the rain. She pushed through the gate, uncaring on the rain sliding down her sleeves. Her hair got stuck to her cheeks as she hurried as fast as she could with soaked shoes and clunky luggage at her side. The streets and sidewalk were empty, as she expected. Rose listened to the streams of rain glug down the gutter.

The residential area around her began to melt away in the dreamy wet city of Pittsburgh. The bright lights of tall buildings and neon lights looked so dewey and washed out in the rain. A few people lingered at bus stops, others hustling up and down the blocks to find shelter. Rose glanced up to a tall building that read FISCHER WERKS. It was Nathaniel's office building. Rose paused on the street corner, her head cocked back. Rain droplets splattered onto her face, running down her cheeks. It still beared his name. She couldn't remember the last time he had even stepped foot in his own office. For as long as Rose had known him, he had simply raked in money for just existing. Rose hated him in that moment, but slowly it mellowed out as she heard the rain around her again. Rose lowered her eyes, looking towards a murky street puddle. Ripples ran across the surface as the rain continued relentlessly. Rose realized she couldn't hate him. She didn't know him. Just like Rose couldn't hate her mother. Now she had to accept, after all these years, Rose simply didn't know her.

A car rushed by, splashing the street puddle upwards and all over Rose. She gasped and staggered back from the curb. Her mouth dropped open in shock as she felt her hair flatten against her head. Her rain coat had not been able to shield the sudden onslaught of water and her entire dress became soaked. Rose huffed and quickly began on her way again. She had to get to the train station. Rose couldn't stand to be in that blasted city for one more moment. Rose had to make the distance. She had to get away before the dismal feeling of the city and everyone in it began to set in on her.

The brightly illuminated and warm-looking train station came into view and Rose sighed in relief. She was beginning to worry she'd never come upon it. Rose didn't wait for the signal, she dashed across the street, carelessly allowing her shoes to step through the murky water. As Rose climbed the stairs, stiffly, in her soaked clothes, she spotted the clock situated above the doors. Five past eleven. She was right on time. Using her back to push the glass door open, Rose snapped the umbrella shut and gave it a good shake, entering the quiet train station. Not many people lingered. One shiney train sat in station. To Rose, it was like seeing the holy grail.

Rose glanced around the shiney station before spying the ticket booth. She made a beeline towards the employee, who was preoccupied with a book he was reading. "Pardon me," Rose said, approaching the counter. She knew she wasn't the best for looks at the moment. Soaked in disgusting gutter water. Just like how she felt on the inside. "Is this the train to Helena, Montana?"

"It is, departing in nine minutes," The employee replied, his mouth full of sunflower seeds. "Wanna ticket?"

"Please," Rose nodded, fishing into her luggage for her coin purse. "Is there a connection I can buy from you?"

The employee swiveled in his chair, consulting with a thick book of routes. "I got a connection to Seattle, one to Canada, and... looks like a Miles City."

"I'll take the connection to Miles City, please," Rose said. It felt so good to hear that familiar town name again. She set her due fees on the counter, which the employee swept up. He then gingerly set her stamped ticket down on the counter. "Thank you very much."

"Would you, uh, like to upgrade to a cabin for the night? They got little sinks so you can wash up." The employee spit a sunflower seed towards a can at his feet.

"No, that's alright," Rose shook her head. "I can just changes clothes."

"Well, that ticket will get you a cabin," The employee grinned. "We had an extra. You have a nice trip now, ma'am."

It was such a sincere act of kindness. Rose usually never opted for a cabin in train travels. It was frivilous in her opinion. She felt she had plenty of space to think and relax in a normal seat. That man could tell, however, she really needed it. In many ways, Rose was a lost puppy, just trying to get home, despite the many God-like signs that she shouldn't have even been attempting.

"Thank you," Rose said softly, taking the ticket into hand and spying the CABIN stamp in the top corner.

"You take care."

Rose grabbed her luggage from the ground beside her and began towards the train. A patiently waiting attendant with a uniform of shiny gold buttons came into view beside the open door to the train. Six more minutes and Rose would travelling forward to the mountains. Home. But somebody called her name and she stopped in her tracks, looking around for where the echo originated. Rising from a bench against a wall was Cal. He discarded a newspaper onto his seat and hurried across the train station. He took her arms into his hands.

"You're leaving?" Was the first thing he asked.

"Cal, what are you doing here?" Rose asked, glancing around the rather desserted train station.

"Waiting for the midnight train to New York City," Cal told her. "Did Ruth...?"

"What, oh no," Rose shook her head, realizing just how exhausted she was, now that she was drying. "It's just time for me to go back home. I suppose the same for you, as well." The boom of thunder rang out.

"Yes... to collect my things," Cal nodded. "I found a place that will due for now here in Pittsburgh. Until I get back on my feet again. I'm glad I saw you. Please, give this to Jack." Cal reached into his pocket and held out a notecard with an address on it. "This is where I'll be conducting business from."

"I'll give it to him," Rose said, staring at the notecard that had Cal's familiar rigid handwriting. "I'm happy for you, Cal. You're holding true. Your new decade starts now."

"I'm happy for you, too," Cal told her. Rose furrowed her brow.

"Why?"

"Because you're proving to me your mother has no hold over you anymore."

Rose stared into Cal's dark brown eyes that shimmered in the overhead light of the train station. He seemed so sincered. Something about his face made him seem so gentle. She was looking at a man she had never seen before. He was wearing the same skin she was familiar with; skin she had touched. But the man operating it was nothing like the man before.

"Last call to Helena, Montana!" The attendant called out. His voice echoed through the station. Rose glanced towards him, quickly looking back at Cal.

"I have to go," She said gently. Rose reached out, grabbing Cal's arm and giving it a squeeze. "I'm glad things are going to work out afterall. For both of us."

As she began to walk away, Cal reached out, grabbing hold of her hand. Rose was surprised and met his eyes again with her eyebrows arched. "Thank you, Rose. For never giving up on me. After everything."

"Goodbye, Cal," Rose replied, walking out of his reach. She held her ticket out to the attendant, who clipped the stub and welcomed her aboard. Right before Rose climbed up, she turned and looked at Cal again, who was still staring after her. "You always win, right, Cal?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Rose grinned and pulled herself aboard, disappearing into the car. Cal's eyes darted between the window, catching the last of her vibrant hair as it vanished on the train. Cal could almost fall over there. Even drenched in rain water, she was absolutely stunning. There was so much he wanted to say to her. He could almost kick himself for his awkward blubbering at the train station. How cliché, he thought. But something about her was still so enticing. Even through his marriage with his wife Elizabeth, he still thought of Rose. The one he had let get away. Never would he have expected to be bading her farewell at the train station, with a heavy, nearly broken heart. The train horn sounded and slowly, the machine chugged to life. The engine squealed as it began to pull out of station. Cal watched longingly as it picked up speed, the rest blurring past him. She was gone. Again. And he was all alone. Again.


	42. Return to Reality

Chapter Forty-Two

_July 12th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

When Jack had rolled out of bed at a half past six that morning, he expected sunlight. When he drew the curtains back, however, a steady downpour greeted him instead. The day was already off to a dreary and dark start. Just like how every morning waking up without Rose felt like. He didn't linger to watch the rain long. He was glad he had woken up early. Jack was determined to try to make breakfast for the kids that wasn't a bowl of cereal, sliced fruit, or oatmeal. He was going to make pancakes, he kept telling himself. _With minimal mess!_

Jack staggered into his pants and laced his belt, all the while deftly tucking his shirt in. He decided not to get too comfy. He expected to have to change before work again. Jack grabbed his cane and quietly crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was so dark with the storm outside, Jack had to turn the lights on. He pulled the curtains back so he could watch the rain dribble down the panes. He loved the sound. Jack gazed around the empty kitchen. He had at least an hour until one of the kids woke up. It gave him plenty of time to start gathering his bowls and utensils, slapping Rose's iron pan over the flame of the stove. As Jack looked between his ingredients, he became dumbfounded on how much he actually needed. He grabbed a bag of sugar, furrowing his brow. _I doubt Rose puts sugar in her pancakes..._

Jack found himself rifling through the cabinets now as the grandfather clock in the living room chimed out for seven in the morning. He grew more and more impatient as he looked between the cabinets. He knew her recipe box was somewhere in the kitchen. Jack cursed under his breath as he continued looking. He sighed as another cabinet proved to be fruitless and turned in resignation to gaze at his collection of ingredients. He stopped abruptly, however, and his eyes grew misty.

Standing on the otherside of the kitchen island was his beautiful wife, Rose. Her hair was a mess, molded in many ways. Her cheeks were full of color and her clothes were wrinkled. But still, she looked absolutely astounding. It was as if an angel had entered the room. All noises surrounding Jack fell away. All he could hear was his hammering heart as he gazed at her, biting down on his lip. How relieved he was to see her again. Though it had only been a week, he felt as if they had been separated a lifetime.

"Rose..." Jack was nearly breathles as he sprung forward, wrapping his arms around her damp slender body. He showered her in kisses, all over her chilly cheekbones and her forehead, down her nose. Finally, he locked onto her lips and she fell against him in perfect harmony. Kissing her rejuvenated him. Jack felt like he had life back in him again, like he could, at last, operate normally. His arms tightened around her and his fingers constricted through her curls. Rose pressed her cheek to his collar bone, listening to his rapid heartbeat. "It's so good to have you home... you have no idea how much we missed you, darling..."

Rose leaned back in Jack's arms so she could look at his eyes. Jack could see how tired she was. It was obvious she had been crying for who knows how long. She brought her slender fingers up to comb his hair back from his face, just like she always did. Her touch was electrifying. Rose shook her head and shrugged. "I couldn't stay there, Jack. Not for a moment more."

"Hey, it's alright," Jack told her softly, as reassuringly as he could. His thumb tenderly stroked her cheek. "What's important is that you did what was right for you."

Rose was opening her mouth to respond when, "Momma!" Rung out from the archway. Valentina, in her nightgown, with Charlie at her heels sprung into the kitchen. They raced towards Rose, easily overriding Jack. He was torn apart from his wife as the children tangled their arms around her waist. Rose's smile became so big. "Did you just get home?"

"Yes," Rose nodded, gently running her hands along Valentina's curls. She gazed down at Charlie, glancing over the fleshy scar running through his eyebrow. He would have it for the rest of his life. She grinned at him, pressing her palm against his cheek. "I missed both of you so much."

"We missed you, too," Valentina assured her, squeezing her tightly.

Charlie looked towards the counters. "What's for breakfast?"

Rose grinned. "Yes, what _is _for breakfast?" Slowly, she looked over the ingredients. "Seriously... what were you trying to make, Jack?"

Jack laughed sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck. He glanced towards the window, which continued to have the rain patter against it. "I was thinking pancakes... but uh, I don't know. I was bouncing ideas around."

"Alright, pancakes it is," Rose nodded, commandeering the counter space. She shooed the family to the kitchen table, where Jack set about getting juice, milk, and coffee ready. "We certainly will not be needing sugar for this, Mr. Dawson," Rose said playfully, putting the bag away in the pantry. Jack blushed furiously, looking over his shoulder from pouring a glass of milk. He watched her. It was like she was in her natural habitat. Despite her two day long train ride, plus the excruciating days spent her mother, Rose was still ready to make the family breakfast. She always was first and foremost a mother.

Jack took the children their milk and juice, setting out a small basket of raspberries and blueberries. Hungrily, Valentina and Charlie snacked on the fruit, glancing continually to the kitchen. Even Jack found himself sneaking gazes at Rose while he went about brewing their coffee. It was so wonderful to have her home. He was worried in the blink of an eye she could turn into smoke. It didn't take Rose long to get breakfast ready and she brought a piping hot stack to the table with some butter. Slowly, she sank into her chair, with her messy hair and her train-ridden clothes. It felt so right to be sitting at that table, gazing ahead towards a grinning Jack, with her children on either side of her. This is what meals were supposed to look like. Rose smiled, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Dig in, enjoy," Rose said, gesturing towards the pancakes. "They're nice and warm. So is the syrup."

Rose watched with a content look on her face as the children began to one-by-one peel a pancake from the stack for their taking. Valentina gingerly buttered her pancakes. Rose watched as young Charlie drowned his in syrup, never to be found beneath the sticky gooey mess again. She then looked down the table at Jack, who was drinking his coffee. He also had been watching the kids, but he felt her gaze and met her eyes. In that moment, Rose's entire body eminated with warmth. Through his eyes alone, she could feel the love he professed to her. She relished in it, falling face first into the ocean waves that ran through his eyes.

It felt good to be home. So terribly good.

...

Jack decided not to go into work that day. He also phoned Maggie to save her the trip in the dreary rain that pounded over the small city rather relentlessly. Jack cleaned the mess up from breakfast himself. He had prompted Rose to get unpacked and perhaps lay down for a nap. After he finished washing the last of the dishes, he wiped the counter tops and kitchen table clean, carelessly disregarding the rag in the suddy sink. He found himself wandering upstairs and slowly, he peaked his head into their bedroom. Rose's suitcase was laying empty beside the closet. Jack was tall enough to reach the shelf where it belonged. He came into the room completely now, shutting the door behind him. A moment passed and Rose emerged from the bathroom, dabbing her face with a towel. She had washed her hair, too. Rose's robe trailed behind her as she began across the room towards her vanity.

"So, what's everyone doing this dreadful rainy day?" Rose asked, seating herself in her stool. She dipped her fingers into some moisturizing cream and slowly began working it into her skin.

"Oh, I don't know," Jack shrugged. "I'm sure it will be what it normally is; trumpets and trains."

Rose grinned, looking over her shoulder at Jack. "Sounds divine." Rose set to running a brush through her damp hair. Slowly, Jack meandered across the room, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed.

"Were you going to lay down?" Jack asked.

"No," Rose shook her head. She reached for a pair of earrings, tenderly clipping them on. "I got some sleep on the train last night. I just want to get back into rhythm."

Jack grinned, running his hands along the bed sheets. "You stop at nothing, huh?"

Rose finished powdering her face and then went to the closet, fishing out a comfy dress for the rainy day ahead of them. She glanced out the window. "It looks like I brought the rain with me from the east coast. Dreadful." As she laid the dress out across the bed, she paused. Jack studied her face for a moment.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered..." Rose reached for the rain coat that had been carelessly disregarded across the chest at the foot of the bed. It was her mother's and Rose wasn't quite sure what to do with it at the moment. Gingerly, she reached into the pocket and held a card out to Jack. "I saw Cal. He asked me to give you this."

"You saw Cal?" Jack echoed, arching his eyebrows. He took the card into his hand. "In Pittsburgh?"

"Yeah," Rose nodded, laying the jacket back down. She didn't want to think about it at the moment. She wasn't ready to confront any feelings or thoughts. She simply shut it all down. Rose shrugged out of her robe, reaching for her dress. "He's getting divorced, going back to his roots," Rose shrugged as she flipped her hair from the collar. "That's his new address."

"Well, good timing..." Jack muttered. "I was about to send him a cheque."

Rose finished buttoning her dress and smoothed her palms along her waist. She felt Jack's eyes on her and looked towards him. "What? Why are you grinning like that?"

"It's just... really great to have you home," Jack told her, almost sheepishly. He acted coyly as if he was only a school boy gazing across the yard at her. Rose grinned at her husband hunkered down on the bed. She crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and falling into him. Together, the two splayed across the bed, tangled in each others arms. Jack leaned forward, pecking his lips against her's. "Please don't ever leave again."

"I won't have to," Rose shook her head. She brought her hand up to gingerly touch his jaw, which was prickly. It was obvious he had had either no time or motivation to shave as frequently. "There's no one left to go see anymore, Jack."

He took hold of her hand, tenderly kissing her fingertips. "But we can still have adventures together, as a family," Jack whispered, grinning all the while. "I was thinkin' this Christmas, we could go to Canada. Let the kids see a moose. Wouldn't that be cool?" Rose couldn't help but laugh at this thought. But slowly, her smile sank away. Jack paused from kissing her hand, squeezing it gently. "Something's on your mind. I can feel you thinking."

Rose sighed, rolling onto her back. She folded her hands over her stomach. She listened to the rain for a moment while Jack propped himself up on his elbow, gazing over her. "We still have that situation with Valentina to clear up, Jack. What are we going to do? I can't think of any way that's not overwhelming," Rose sat up now, facing towards Jack. "It's inevitable, Jack. No matter what we do, she's going to go through this phase where she's confused about herself as a person. I'm worried we may tell her too much too soon and she's just... conflicted."

"Well, if that's what it takes to get her on the other side to being a confident and self-accepting woman, then I say we go for it," Jack shrugged. Rose still looked concerned. He scooted closer, placing his hand on her knee. "Rose, I'm not going to sit here and tell you we aren't going to make mistakes. We are. _Big _ones. We can't even begin to understand. But we can be supportive and willing to talk about it with her."

"You're right... as usual," Rose nodded, watching the rain outside. "She needs to know. But... it's just hard, Jack. I know we'll make mistakes but I can't help but fixate on what I can do to make sure this goes perfectly. I just know I'll end up stuttering or confusing her even more."

"Rose," Jack placed his hand beneath her chin, tipping her face upwards. "You may not be Valentina's real mother, but you're pretty damn close. She looks to your for guidance and validation. She respects you and you do the same for her. Tina's lucky to be hearing it from you."

Rose was quiet for a few beats. "You know... if Sheila is Valentina's aunt... that means Lawrence is her cousin."

"Huh... I hadn't thought of it like that..." Jack furrowed his brow. "Seems a lot closer when you say it like that..." And together, the couple sat there in silence, pondering over what their next moves would be.

Finally, Rose got to her feet. "Let's not talk to her today. Let's wait a few days so she doesn't think I rushed home because of it."

"Deal," Jack nodded. "Well, I'm off to check on the kids. What are you gonna do?"

"I need to check my calendar for work," Rose told him, opening the door and leading him out. When she came around the corner for the hallway, she stopped abruptly. Jack walked into the back of her. He craned his neck to see what the hold up was. Sitting in the office at Rose's desk was Valentina. Carefully, she was using the typewriter. She wasn't very fast and each letter was painstakingly found and stamped. Rose couldn't help but smile ear to ear, pleased to see her daughter write. Rose smiled mischeviously at Jack, giving him on a pinch on his arm. "Looks like this weekend you're off to the flea market to find another typewriter."


	43. Identity

Chapter Forty-Three

_July 15th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Rose had fallen back into the rhythm of her household with ease. Being a mother was second instinct to her. She had been careening the household through the past decade and had no intention to stop now. There was still another decade before both of the children would be out on their own in the big world. Rose had planned her first few days around the house to be spent cleaning. But to her surprise, Maggie had kept up with all of it. All the surfaces had been dusted, the floors had been swept, the windows had been washed, the sills had been wiped down. She knew she had to do something grand for Maggie to thank her for what she did for the family.

She still had not heard any word from the Fischer estate. She figured Albertson or Madeleine would have called her by now. Her mother was in a dreary state when she left five days ago. But maybe Rose was what kept the life chased out of her. Rose decided not to dwell on it too much. She had hung her mother's raincoat in the far back corner of the closet so she wouldn't have to look at it. She would never use it again, that was for sure. Rose marveled at the fact that nearly a week in her household blew past her. Nearly a week in that estate was at least one year in realities time at best. Still every morning, Rose was grateful to wake up in her bed, beside the man she loved.

That Sunday was a nice day. A few fluffy clouds drifted through the cerulean blue sky. The mountains snow capped tops glowed brightly in the distance. The temperature was mild and the sun didn't beat down on anyone too harshly. Rose sipped some of her tea, glancing out the window in the dining room that overlooked the front yard. Valentina was laying in the grass beside a tree at the fenceline, her nose stuck in a book. She spread her legs through the grass, uncaring of the blades brushing up against her skin. Her hair had been confined to french braids that dangled over her shoulders, grazing the grass.

"Jack?" Rose turned her head. He was sitting in a barstool at the island reading the _Miles City Tribune_ while he drank his coffee. Jack arched his eyebrows and lifted his eyes from the paper when she called. Rose used her head to gesture out the front window. He craned his neck around Rose to see what she was talking about. "Do you think... today's the day?"

Jack took a sip of coffee, lowering his paper. "Do you feel ready?"

"Do you?"

"If you do."

"I do."

"Well..." Jack grinned boyishly, making Rose's heart flip. His bangs fell across his forehead and fleetingly, Rose could have sworn she was looking at that young Jack Dawson again with the salty breeze rushing through his hair. "Alright, then."

Rose drank some of her tea and again turned to Valentina. She now was leisurely turning the page, adjusting her head against the tree trunk she laid on. Rose gripped her cup tightly as she looked at that sweet little girl. She deserved the world, Rose thought. The world was utterly missing out not knowing about this spry, witty, intelligent, and talented girl. But Rose was worried she was about to interrupt all of that. That Valentina would suddenly not take priority to her schoolwork or even her general habits of practicing trumpet, practicing her long hand, even reading. Rose was scared she was going to change Valentina with these words. And that Sheila was going to change her environment as she knew it. There was no going back, she had to remind herself.

Jack scraped his stool back, drawing her attention away. "I'll go get the box of letters," Jack said.

"Keep them in our room," Rose replied, setting her empty cup on the countertop. "That's where we should talk to her. In private."

Jack paused at the archway to the dining room, watching his daughter for a few moments. "What are we going to tell Charlie?"

Rose licked her lips. "I hadn't thought of anything at the moment."

"Do you think... it should be a family discussion?" Jack turned towards Rose, taking her hands into his. "Rose, I think this may be the most important moment for our family. For Valentina to be old enough to listen through the story of how we really met her mother, what really happened to her. Show her all of the letters. She'll understand how much Charlotte really loved her. But she's going to have survivor's guilt. She's going to feel it and..." He sighed. "It's going to be tough. But maybe Charlie should be there."

"What if that makes her feel like she's being called out for being different?" Rose asked.

Jack laughed lightly. "Rose, she already knows she's different. She knows we're not her real parents, Charlie isn't her real brother. But sometimes, blood doesn't always define family. When you think of the kids, you think about both of them. She knows Charlie isn't favored because he's our actual son. It's time we told her more about her family. What we've learned."

Rose took in a deep breath. "Okay, can you put the letters in the library? That's where we'll gather."

Jack smiled, kissing her knuckles gently. "I'll get Charlie if you get Valentina."

Rose turned her head to gaze out the window at the unsuspecting little girl. She simply thought she was going to laze her day away under a tree with a book. Rose almost felt bad in the moment about tearing her away from that. She pursed her lips and nodded. "Okay. I'll go get her."

"Rose," Jack's palm met her cheek, directing her eyes towards him. "Everything is going to be alright. She's still going to be our little girl."

Anxiety tingled beneath Rose's skin and she fidgeted with the wedding band on her finger. "We... we don't have to go big into the gnitty details or... or the bloodshed, right?"

"No, nothing graphic," Jack shook his head. "Just exactly what happened. Gun shots were exchanged, people died, and the town burned down. That's it."

Rose closed her eyes, almost feeling woozy for a moment. "Oh God, Jack... I just... I don't know." She let out a huff, lowering her head. "I must seem so weak compared to you. You've essentially gone to Hell and back and I can't even recite a simple violent story."

First of all," Jack tipped her chin up so he could find her beautiful green eyes. "If I had had a choice, I wouldn't have gone to begin with. I didn't want to walk with a piece of shrapnel in my knee for the rest of my life. And two, it hurts because it's _personal, _Rose. Imagine if she and Charlotte had been born in different states. They could have had a normal life, like Valentina's living now."

Rose reached her hand up, lacing her fingers through Jack's. "I wish we had brought her with us, Jack. Imagine how different things could have been. They could have had their own house together. Charlotte and Valentina would learn how to read and write together. And have dinner together..."

"Yeah, I know..." Jack looked out the window at Valentina. "It's amazing how every day, she looks more and more like her mother."

"She even braids her hair the same way," Rose whispered. "Like she knew." Finally, Rose sighed and squeezed Jack's hand one last time before she untangled herself from him and went to the front door. She paused, her hand hovering over the handle. She knew the day this would all need to be said would arrive. Rose had not anticipated it greatly enough. She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, slowly coming to the railing. She took another moment to watch Valentina, who seemed absorbed in a whole other world. Rose closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of mountain air.

"Tina?" Rose called gently.

The young girl bucked up from where she lay, propping herself up on her elbow. "Yes, Momma?"

Rose gripped the railing so tightly, she was afraid she was going to snap the wood in half like it was no more than a toothpick. "Would you come inside, please? To the library? We... we need to have a family discussion."

"Oh," Valentina seemed surprised. "Sure, I'm comin'."

Rose nodded and turned back towards the door stiffly, her heart hammering in her chest.

...

Jack and Rose had opened the curtains in the library and opened one to allow a gentle breeze in. Four chairs were gathered around the oak coffee table and any cluttered books were placed back onto the tightly packed bookshelves. Jack set the box of letter on the table, slowly pulling bunches of them tied with parcel string out. Rose looked to each one with searing pain. So many regrets were harbored in the pit of her stomach, slowly unfurling. Sure, she was giving Valentina a good life. But wouldn't it had been better if they had taken her afterall and kept the family together? The moral dilemma waged on inside of her.

Charlie and Valentina found themselves into the room and into seats within the next few minutes. Slowly, Jack and Rose sat down, too. The children looked towards the dozens of dozens of envelopes spread out across the table. They simply didn't know what to expect. The idea of a family discussion sounded rather terrifying in their mind. Slowly, Valentina looked to both her parents, sitting back in her chair. She pursed her lips for a moment, waiting for somebody to speak.

Jack cleared his throat. "Now I know this summer has been a little... different for the family. A lot has happened or changed. And not just under this roof. Miles City as a whole is changing, very rapidly. It's very different from when we first moved here." Jack straightened his shoulders, calculating his next words. "Recently, I learned something very interesting about a family here in Miles City; the Freedman's." He saw Charlie's eyes snap down at the mention. "It looks like they're... closer to our family than we realize."

"Why?" Valentina asked. "'Cause they tried to kill Charlie?"

"Tina, please don't say that," Rose shook her head. "It was never Lawrence's intention to _kill _Charlie."

"He got pretty damn close..." Charlie muttered.

"Language," Jack pointed his finger at his son. "This isn't about Charlie or even Lawrence. This family discussion is about Valentina."

The young girl bucked up in her seat, her eyes growing wide as saucers. "Wait... what did I do?"

Rose's fingers fidgeted in her lap. "Tina, I have a choice for you to make right now in this moment. We need to discuss with you the importance of your past. Your father and I think it's important that we tell you. But you have a choice. Do you want your brother here with you while we discuss this? Or would you prefer to be alone?"

Valentina looked towards her younger brother. She had always considered herself very close with him. Charlie had always been a marvelous playmate in the past. She finally looked between her parents. "I want Charlie here with me." Her father was about to speak, but she held her hand up and he yielded the floor to her. "Can I ask... what's brought this about? Why is it suddenly important I know all of this?"

"I'll explain that," Jack told her. "But it's unfortunately not where we can start the story."

"Tina," Rose was nearly breathless. She tensed every muscle in her body to stop herself from shaking. "We just want to preface with the reminder that we love you. And we only want what's best for you. What we're telling you today is something we will always be willing to talk to you about. Some of it might not make sense. You might be confused. But, baby, that's okay. It might not be all clear, even after tomorrow, or the next day. But one day, it will make sense. You'll understand."

Jack reached for the first letter on the table. It was so old and crumpled. Rose recognized it as the first letter to arrive in their new mailbox, fresh from Texas. Slowly, he unfolded the envelope and pulled the letter out. "Tina, all of these envelopes sitting here, they all contain letters. These letters are from your mother."

"Momma, you wrote all of these to me?" Valentina asked, furrowing her brow.

Rose smiled weakly, her eyes already misting with tears. "No, sweetheart. Your real mother."

It dawned on Valentina suddenly. Slowly, she scooted forward in her chair, gazing over the letters. She had started counting, but tapered off when she realized there were dozens. "My... my real mother wrote all of these letters?"

"We had a regular correspondence with her," Jack said. "I would draw her pictures of you and Charlie, so she could see how you were doing. Her friend could write, so your mother dictated the letters." He held one out towards her. "Would you like to read it?"

Valentina stared at the letter for a few beats before gingerly taking it into her hands. Her eyes hovered over the words as she took them all in. She lowered it to her lap, looking at her parents. "Charlotte. My mother's name is Charlotte."

"That's why it's your middle name," Rose grinned.

"What was my last name?" Valentina asked. It was obvious her curiosity had been piqued.

"I'm actually... not quite sure," Rose shook her head, looking to Jack.

"I think it may have been Lawson," Jack said, casting his eyes down. "I'm not sure, though."

"Does my mother still write?" Valentina asked. Gingerly, she set the letter down and reached for a random one in the assortment. Carefully, she opened the envelope and read the letter slowly. She grinned. "In this one, she's asking if you're going to teach me how to read and write."

"All of these letters were exchanged before you started school," Rose told her. "Unfortunately... the letters don't come anymore, baby."

The young girl stopped from sifting through the envelopes. "Why not? When did they stop?"

"Valentina," Jack set his elbows to his knees. "Your mother died in 1914."

The couple watched their daughter carefully as she absorbed Jack's words. After a moment, she reached for another envelope, withdrawing the letter to pore over. "This one is dated 1913," Valentina told them. "She's talking about my birthday party."

"I got pictures developed and sent them to her," Jack grinned. "There was one of you covered in buttercream icing. It was in your hair and on your dress. It was a mess."

"Tina, you were born in a small town called Havana, Texas," Rose told her.

"I've never heard of it," Valentina shrugged. "Well, actually, I don't know anything about Texas except there's a town called San Antonio there. Apparently some battle happened."

"It's called the Alamo," Charlie said.

"How do you know?"

"'Cause James Bowie had this awesome knife," Charlie grinned, fantasizing about the stories he had been told.

"The town doesn't exist anymore," Rose said. "It's more or less a part of Waco now."

"Well..." Valentina looked at her mother, then her father. "How did she die? How did you actually end up with me? I'm beginning to suspect the story about me being left at a train station is fake."

"I just want to say, we lied for a good reason," Jack sat up straight now. "We hate lying to you two. You know we'll do everything in our power to avoid it, but when you first asked, Tina... nobody was ready for the truth yet."

"Back in 1912, your father and I were on a train from New Orleans to Montana. We had been visiting with Uncle Mark and Aunt Addie and your father was due to start as a photographer at the magazine office," Rose explained. Valentina seemed to be clinging to every word. "We had been crossing through Texas when there was a delay with the train, so we had to stay in Havana that night." Jack was anticipating the next part of the story, but Rose grew quiet. He knew she didn't want to think about it. Even less, talk about it.

"And? What happened?" Valentina asked with big wide eyes.

When Jack realized Rose had become muddled in her thoughts, he quickly stepped forward. "Havana was not all it seemed to your mother and I at first. It presented itself as a humble small-town community, but really, there were deeper problems undetectable to a foreigner's eyes. The town was scarred with bad business and tensions of opposing views and thoughts. Lots of violence broke out over it and that night, your mother and I were unlucky enough to get pulled into the violence when they began torching buildings and hurting innocent people."

"Why would they do that?" Valentina asked, utterly lost. "These people were destroying their own home?"

"It was because they were racist, Tina," Jack said gently. "There was a large population of black people, mostly living in servitude. Even when servants, those radicals were not happy with their presence."

"What did the black people do to them?" Valentina knitted her eyebrows together. One of her braids fell from her shoulder, dangling at the frame of her face.

"Tina, it's hard to explain racism," Rose told her. "In fact, there's really nothing logical about that kind of mindset. It's disgusting. I wish I could explain why people see other's as inferior, but I've never thought like that before. I don't understand how you get there to begin with."

"So... the white people were killin' the black people. And you were caught in the middle of it?" Valentina asked, slowly piecing it all together. "Did you actually find me at the train station?"

"No," Rose shook her head.

"We found you in your mother's arms," Jack said, folding his hands together. "Hiding in a burning alley."

"Your mother insisted we take you. She wanted you away from all of it. She didn't even want you in Texas," Rose explained. That fateful night was slowly creeping back into her memory, rather vividly. She could hear the screams, the thunder of the horse hooves against the ground. She smelled the scent of charred wood, burning wool. And all around her, she could see the commotion of the night that unfurled. "When she found out we were heading to Montana, your mother entrusted us with you."

"Why couldn't she come?" Valentina asked, lowering a letter into her lap. "Why wasn't she insistent on us staying together? She was all I had left."

"We tried to convince her," Rose said.

"She wouldn't come," Jack sighed. He thought about Charlotte nearly every day, especially when he saw Valentina. Everything she did, he could see her mother reflecting in her. No matter how much she had observed of Jack and Rose, there was no erasing the roots of the tree she once came from. "Your mother worked for people who weren't so interested in her ever leaving."

"And my father?" Valentina looked at Jack. "What about him?"

Jack lowered his eyes, recalling the callous story Matthew had told him. "He died. When you were very young."

"So, my mother wouldn't go with you guys..." Valentina slowly recounted, gingerly folding a letter into an envelope. "What happened to her?"

The couple was quiet for a few beats, both waiting to see who was willing to speak first. It was obvious their daughter was hungry for answers. But they grew concerned on how much they should really be telling her. Too much too soon could be damaging and conflicting. But not enough would leave her confused with a blurred image of where she came from.

"The violence soon overtook Havana," Jack finally said, rubbing his rather sweaty palms together. "In 1914, it finally came to a head and the town paid the ultimate price. It was... burned to the ground. Many people died in the fight. Your mother was one of them."

"Your mother was so strong and brave," Rose told her gently. "She was willing to sacrifice anything if it meant you could be happy, Valentina. She loved you dearly."

Valentina didn't reach for another letter. She sat there quietly, pondering in her thoughts. It was a lot to take in that she was from a place that didn't exist anymore. Though she had always suspected as such, it became pronounced in her mind that she was but a willowly tree branch dangling from a tree that had burst into flames. There was nothing left of her origins. She became all too aware of her surgical placement in the Dawson family.

"Why did you take me?" Valentina asked. Her eyes hovered on the letters sitting before her.

"We wanted to help your mother," Rose said. "We weren't going to leave you there when she was pleading for you to be taken. Tina, you were so small. We couldn't just turn our backs."

"But you could have given me away to someone else," Valentina shrugged. "Why did you keep me? Didn't you think about all the trouble you were going to have? All the weird looks people give you when they see me with you?"

"Tina, you don't need a reason to help somebody," Jack shook his head. "We loved you the moment you were first handed to us. And when has anyone in this family ever cared about what somebody thought of us? You know, your mother and I were getting odd looks long before you ever came along. They always told us we didn't belong together. They can say the same about you, but it doesn't matter, because you're a member of this family."

"Where was I when all of this was happening?" Charlie asked, his brow furrowed from where he slouched in his chair.

Rose grinned. "Honey, you were just a twinkle in your father's eye at that point. You still wouldn't be born until the next year."

Tenderly, Valentina ran her hands along the envelopes, but she didn't dare choose one to open. She came to her feet and walked towards the picture window that overlooked their backyard. She gazed off towards the mountains, still processing what she had been told. Her parents had suffered for the color of their skin. But somehow, they had managed to lift her from the ashes and give her a chance. Several emotions stewed in Valentina's stomach. Some of them, she had no names for. Finally, she turned back towards her parents, who anxiously awaited her reaction.

"So... I have no more living blood relatives?"

"Actually, you do," Jack nodded. "And they live right here in Miles City."

"No..." Valentina shook her head as she began to connect the dots. She came towards her father, her braid beating against her neck. "No way, Daddy, you're just pullin' my leg. It can't be."

"What's going on?" Charlie asked, so obviously confused.

"Daddy's sayin' I'm related to the Freedman's!" Valentina cried out, like it was the end of the world. "I don't believe you," She turned back towards Jack, putting her hands on her hips defiantly. "That woman called me a negro, like she'd never seen a black person before! And Lawrence tried to kill my brother! You told me to stay away from them! Now you're telling me I'm related to them? How is that even possible? They're white, Daddy!"

Jack reached out, wrapping his arms around Valentina and drawing her into his lap. Being the daddy's girl she was, she melted into his touch and sighed, relishing in his warmth. "Now, now, don't be so quick to judge. You know never to just assume things. Your mother, is Mrs. Freedman's half-sister. So she's your aunt. And from what I've been told, she loved you and your mother very much. But she had no idea what happened to you, Tina," Jack reached out, pushing a braid from her face. She looked to him with her honey brown eyes. "And after all these years... she just didn't recognize you, darlin'."

"If she's my aunt..." Valentina cast her eyes down. "That means Lawrence is my cousin."

"No way!" Charlie cried out, shaking his head.

"It's the truth," Jack assured them. He wrapped his arm around Valentina's wiry shoulders. "Look, I know it's a lot to take in. You should take as long as you need to actually process it. If you want to talk more about it with your mother and I, we are all ears. But I think it would be good... eventually... to meet the Freedman's formally. Tell her you who you are. It will change everything, I promise."

"Why did Mrs. Freedman let her own half-sister _die_?" Valentina shook her head. "Daddy, they don't sound like good people and to know... I'm related to that by blood. It's _barbaric_."

"Tina, that's not fair," Jack told her. "People change, they really do."

"How do you think they feel?" Rose asked, setting her hands in her lap. "They lost their home, too, Tina. They lost everything. And it sounds like a lot of their family as well. It sounded like absolutely chaos. Maybe they simply lost track of each other."

"What will it change if I tell Mrs. Freedman who I am?" Valentina shrugged.

"Honey, it's a link to your past," Rose said, shaking her head. "She grew up with your mother. She probably knows a lot about her."

"I told Lawrence about Valentina," Charlie piped up, resting his heavy cast on the arm of the chair. "He didn't seem to know who she was."

"Well, he was very young when this happened," Jack said. "He and Valentina were just babies. They don't remember each other."

Valentina sighed and rose from her father's lap. She collected a few of the envelopes into her arms and began for the door. "I'm going to be in my room," She stopped, however, and turned to her parents. "Thank you for telling me that. I know it was... really hard to do." And with that, Valentina left, leaving the rest of the family in silence.

Jack leaned against the back of his chair and sighed, looking towards his son. "Did you want to talk about any of it, bud?"

"Um, I actually have a question," Charlie said, rather quietly. "If we introduce Valentina to Mrs. Freedman... that doesn't mean Valentina will live with them from now on, right? Will Valentina stay with us?"

Rose's heart melted at the question. It was so obvious the young boy loved and cared for his older sister. Rose went to sit on the arm of Charlie's chair, gently combing her hair through his sandy blond locks. "No, sweetheart. It doesn't mean she will go away. Valentina will always be apart of this family. Nothing could ever change that."

"Do you promise to never let anybody take her?" Charlie's eyes darted between his parents.

"We promise, bud," Jack nodded. "She's a Dawson."


	44. Coming to Terms

Chapter Forty-Four

_July 16th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

It was well after nine o'clock. Jack found himself lounging on the back porch, his feet kicked up on the table. He watched the lightning bugs buzz and flicker just beyond the patio. He took a sip of whiskey, tilting his head back and sighing, listening to the crickets chirp. That day at work had been hectic. Eleanor actually had done quite bit to easen the load for the office. Jack hadn't taken much notice. She had stayed away like he asked, thankfully. He still was taking into consideration the replacement for the office.

The back door swung open and Jack looked over his shoulder. He knew it couldn't be Rose. She had resigned to take a bath only twenty minutes ago. Instead, he found Valentina. "Is it okay if I sit out here with you?" She asked, lingering in the door.

Jack set his feet to the ground, nodding his head. "Please, sit with me."

Valentina had stayed in her bedroom the remainder of Sunday afternoon. She had come down for dinner but didn't broach the subject of what had been dropped on her. She did participate in the minimal conversation the family had about the new art display at the museum. But today had been the same story. Valentina was sprawled out on her bedroom floor with the letters her mother had sent spiraling around her. She had been reading and re-reading, clinging to each line, analyzing each sentence structure. Finding the grammatical and spelling errors.

Valentina scraped a chair out for herself and plopped down beside her dad. "I thought you would have been asleep by now," Jack said, taking a sip of his whiskey. "It's nearly ten."

Valentina shrugged, glancing towards her nightgown. "I tried, but I couldn't."

Jack set his head in his hand, propping his elbow up on the table. "I imagine you have a lot on your mind."

"Why did you and Momma decide to tell me now?" Valentina asked, running her hands along the smooth wood surface of the table. She then watched the fireflies for a brief moment.

"After I found out the relationship between you and the Freedman's, your mother and I decided it would be best," Jack told her. "There's not many other little girls named Valentina in Miles City. If Sheila had found out, she would have confronted you. We've known since the day we took you in, Tina, that we would need to tell you the truth. It needed to come from your mother and I. It was our responsibility."

"I get to stay with you guys, though, right?" Valentina asked meekly from her chair. "I love you and Momma and Charlie. I don't want to live with them just 'cause they're family."

"Nothing like that is going to change, Tina," Jack told her confidentally. He sat up straight now. "You're part of this family. You've been a Dawson nearly as long as your mother. You've been here longer than your brother. And you're never going to leave this family. You'll always be a Dawson."

"I know I should be sad about my parent's death..." Valentina looked down, almost like she was ashamed. "I mean, I'm sad that they died. I wish human's never did," She shrugged sheepishly and looked towards her father. "But I feel like my parents, so to say, never died. Because I have you and Momma. You're all I've ever known. I don't even know what my real parents look like. My earliest memory is with you."

"What is your earliest memory?" Jack asked, keenly interested.

"Well, I don't remember how old I was," Valentina shook her head. "But you were holding me. We were right there, at the back of the yard," Valentina pointed towards the fence at the back border. "You were pointing to the mountains but all I remember was just staring at your face. It's like I was seeing it for the first time again and I just remember loving you so instantly. And I think I hugged you."

"Oh, I remember," Jack laughed. "I thought the mountains had scared you and you were hiding in my neck. You were maybe barely two years old at that point. That's what you were you doing? You were hugging me?"

"Yeah, 'cause I knew you were my dad," Valentina told him. "It's really sad my real mother and father had to die. Really, all for nothing. But I guess I'm almost thankful because they were able to give me the best parents in the world and... I don't have to live in a world like them. By this point, I would have been sweeping floors and cleaning bathrooms."

Jack lowered his hand to the table resting between them. "Just don't dwell on the what if's, Tina. You could dream up a million and one scenarios that will never come true. Don't entertain yourself like that. Just be thankful for how things have turned out in the end."

"You're right," Valentina nodded. "And you and Momma shouldn't feel so guilty for not taking my mother with you. You did everything you could."

"How did-"

"When Momma said it, I could just tell... she left a lot unsaid," Valentina shrugged. "You're dwelling on the what if's, too, if you keep thinking about it. This was probably the best case, Daddy. Me being with you."

Jack marveled at how intuitive and in tune she was with those surrounding her. It seemed like nothing was able to slide by the logical and tactical Valentina. Jack grinned. "Okay, deal. We'll keep to our promise if you keep to your's. Facts are facts, right? That's the key if you do journalism, Tina."

"Facts are facts," Valentina agreed. "Even if I really despise the fact I'm related to _Lawrence_."

Jack took a curt sip of whiskey. "Hey, I say give them another chance. What's happened is done. We have all made mistakes here, Tina. It wasn't just them. And Charlie's going to be just fine. You'll see. He'll be riding a bicycle again before fall even starts."

"She actually loved my mother?" Valentina asked, rather hesitantly.

"So I was told," Jack nodded.

Valentina was quiet for a while, staring off towards the fireflies. Jack took a sip of his whiskey, being sure not to stare at her while she sorted her thoughts. Valentina sighed, rather frustratedly.

"I want to formally meet them, as you say," Valentina shrugged. "But... I feel like there's a large chance I'll gain absolutely nothing from this, Daddy. Like she won't have anything to say to me... nothing to tell me. Just the end of another tree branch that's rotting from the trunk up."

"Tina..." Jack reached out, gently touching her arm. "You're getting ahead of yourself. _Way _ahead of yourself. You're not doing this alone. Your mother and I and your brother, we will be there to support you all the way through this. So what if you get nothing from it... in many ways, you get closure or acceptance. And no matter what, you still have a family to go back to."

"So you really think I should go to them and tell them who I am?" Valentina asked seriously.

"What would it hurt to try? There's nothing to lose, Valentina," Jack told her. "If you never take a chance, you'll live with so many regrets, doomed to fall into that cycle of what if's again and again. You know, if I had never taken a chance, your mother and I never would have met."

"You took a chance on talking to a pretty girl at a party," Valentina laughed at the idea.

"Ah, that's the story we told you kids," Jack grinned. Valentina looked to him with curious eyes.

"_Another _story? Daddy, you said you try to _avoid _lying to us."

"This one was a bit more serious," Jack told her. "I think you're old enough to hear it but... your brother's not. Would you please not tell him?"

"Okay, I won't," Valentina nodded.

"Your mother and I did meet on the _Titanic,_" Jack said. "That part is true. But... it wasn't at a party. In fact, we were in two entirely different classes. She was in first. And I... was in steerage."

"Steerage? Daddy, you were poor?" Valentina asked, furrowing her brow.

Jack nodded. "A penniless artist, coming back from Europe. Your mother, however, was a radiant angel, wearing the finest clothes fresh from the trendy markets of Paris. She was quite a sight to behold," Jack grinned. "And I knew I'd never get a chance to talk to her."

"But then...?" Valentina was so eager.

"I was stargazing one night, on the back deck where I was allowed to be after certain hours," Jack explained slowly. The sounds of the Atlantic ocean washed through his ears. He could almost feel the cold chill running through his hair. He could taste those cheap cigarettes he and Fabrizio had bought off a man before they boarded. "I was laying on a bench, in a shadow, when your mother rushed past me in a crying fit."

"Oh, I don't like to think of Momma crying," Valentina frowned.

"She hadn't seen me, so I followed her to investigate," Jack lowered his eyes, recalling the moment he set his eyes on her. She was so pale, her make up was runny. Her hair was a mess, like she was simply ripped her pins out without a second thought. That red and black she wore made her body appear so curvy. Her appearance was that of sophistication, but Rose in that moment was anything but. "She was dangling on the other side of the rails. She was going to jump."

Valentina was astounded. "Momma was going to _jump _off the ship?!"

"She was in a really bad place in her life at the time," Jack told her cooly. "There were a lot of what if's following her about what was going to happen and change in her life once she got back to America. I decided to intervene, though. She told me to mind my own business but I didn't. And I was able to talk her back over the rails and from there... it all just kind of came together."

"That story is a lot more romantic than your first one," Valentina told him. "I give that a better approval rate than the dumb dancing ball."

Jack laughed. "The moral of that story is you have to take chances, Tina. You never know what will happen."

"Can I sleep on it?" She asked, looking at her father.

"Of course," Jack nodded. "It's your decision to make. Take your time, darling."

Valentina grinned and rose from her seat. She came around the table and wrapped her arms around Jack's neck. He pulled her in for an embrace and held her tightly. His mind was overflowed with several thousand memories he had made with Valentina over the past ten years. Countless birthdays and Christmases. Thanksgiving, family vacations. Simple dinners. Passings in the hallway. School acheivements. Loose teeth. It was all flooding in on him as he held his daughter in his arms.

"Thanks for telling me all of that, Daddy," She told him. "I think I'm going to try to sleep again."

"Alright, then," Jack stood up now, too. "I should get a move on to bed anyway. Looks like I'm gonna be the last one up at this point. Sweet dreams, darling." He leaned down to plop a kiss on her forehead and saw her off as she headed towards the backdoor. When she pulled it open, she paused, looking over her shoulder at Jack.

"I know I haven't slept on it yet but... I think it might be a yes," Valentina said. She then went inside, closing the door after her. Jack lingered on the porch a moment more, staring off into the distance at the dark looming mountains. The cicadas chirped loudly around him from all directions. A grin had come across his face.

_That girl's got a good head on her shoulders. Just like Rose._

...

_July 17th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

That morning, Jack found himself needed in the office a bit earlier, so it would mean ducking out of breakfast prematurely. Rose had just finished buttering the toast and dividing the scrambled eggs up amongst the plates. Jack took their coffees to the table where Charlie was chugging milk and Valentina was staring out the window at the overcast today that had greeted them. Her attention was brought to the table as Rose served their plates.

"Thank you for making my coffee," She pecked Jack on the lips as she set his breakfast in front of him. Rose seated herself in her spot on the other end of the table, sipping her coffee and placing her napkin in her lap out of habit. Charlie had already started breakfast, munching away at his toast. Even Jack had started shoveling eggs into his mouth in anticipation of the day that awaited him at the office. Valentina was left to stare at her breakfast, poking at her sausage link. "Tina, is your breakfast alright?" Rose asked, lowering her mug.

"Oh, yes," Valentina nodded, perking up. She wasn't aware anyone was watching her. She took a gulp of orange juice and reached for a piece of toast, taking a bite out of it. "I'm not very hungry this morning."

"Are you feeling alright?" Rose set her mug on the table and worked on transferring eggs to a piece of her toast.

"Yes," Valentina nodded again, putting her bread back on her plate. It's all she wanted for the moment. Again, she found herself shuffling her food about as she contemplated how to force it into her mouth. "I was just up for awhile last night. Thinking."

"About?" Rose asked after taking a bite out of her toast. Rose had a million guesses as to what occupied Valentina's mind last night. She wanted to hear the most important, however.

"I want to go talk to Mrs. Freedman," Valentina said evenly, resting her elbows on the table.

"You do? You're sure?" Rose asked.

"Tina, I'm glad you thought about it," Jack nodded.

"It's really what you want to do, right?" Rose asked, reaching out and tenderly gripping Valentina's wrist. "Nobody will be disappointed in your or frustrated if you just say no. It's completely your choice."

"I want to," Valentina told her. "It couldn't hurt to try."

Jack grinned from behind his mug as he took a curt swig of coffee, immediately washing it down with a sausage link. "Good for you, Tina," He said, once his mouth was clear. "I'll talk with them to see when the best to meet is."

"Oh, phone me with what they say," Rose said, looking up from cutting her sausage link. "I'll make a casserole." Oh, the casserole. If Jack was asked what a manifestation of Rose's anxiety and fears looked like, he would show them a dish of Rose's king ranch chicken casserole. Whenever she was stressed, left in waiting, or absolutely unsure, she made a casserole. If that was for dinner, it easily defined to Jack that Rose was wound up. He decided it'd be best if she made one if it meant she would have something to occupy herself with.

Jack glanced towards the clock. "Oh shit-"

"Jack," Rose shot him a look.

"Sorry- shoot," Jack stammered, coming to his feet. His tilted his head back, finishing the rest of his coffee while his son giggled quietly to himself about his father's admonishment. "I have to go. I'll see everyone later, okay? Be good, mind your mother!" He said, snagging a sausage link from his plate and hurrying towards the door. Rose followed at his heels, grabbing his jacket from the rack and handing it to him. "Thank you," He said, shrugging into it.

"I wish you could stay for the rest of breakfast," Rose sighed, adjusting the collar on his shirt and fixing a twisted suspender. "I hope you have a good day."

"You, too, darlin'," Jack replied, leaning forward to peck her on the lips. "I'll call you around lunch. That's when I plan to speak with Matthew."

"Alright," Rose glanced towards the clock. She had awhile to sit around and wait for that. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Jack said, already heading out the door. She watched him go before returning to the kitchen table with the children to finish a rather quiet breakfast.

...

Rose decided her first grand gesture of appreciation to Maggie would be an elaborate floral arrangement consisting of yellow, white, and pink lillies, Maggie's favorite. The southern belle was a firm and adamant believer in always having fresh flowers in her house. Rose had the local florist do up a large bouquet in a clear vase with a linen white ribbon tied off at the lip. The red headed woman carried the vase carefully in her arms as she began on her way to see a friend for the first time in awhile and begin the parade of appreciation.

As Rose exited the strip where the local florist was located, she almost ran directly into somebody who was walking hurriedly and cutting blind corners close. Rose adjusted the arrangement, craning her neck around the vibrant petals to see Eleanor Greene standing in front of her with a flushed face. She was back to wearing her normal every day cotton dresses. She hadn't done anything to her hair that morning. Rose held the vase at her hip.

"Oh, hello, Eleanor," Rose said, rather plainly. "Out running errands?"

"Hello, Rose, yes," Eleanor was nearly breathless and she gripped her purse strap rather sheepishly. "I'm sure you're glad to be home."

"Very much so, yes," Rose nodded.

"I would love to stay and chat," A rather antsy Eleanor said. "But I really need to get to the bank before they close for lunch. I need to close my account."

"So... you're moving back home?" Rose asked. She did feel bad, mostly for Ivan. He already was proving to be a troubled boy. Ripping him from his roots was only bound to excaberate the issue more.

"Mhm, ol' Kansas City," Eleanor nodded, not sounding thrilled in the least.

"Well, all the luck," Rose said as genuinely as possible. "There's new opportunities in new places all the time. Safe travels." Rose turned, her heels clicking against the red plaza brick as she began on her way towards Maggie's. She needed to be back at the house by noon to receive Jack's phone call. Eleanor called after her, however, and she abruptly stopped, twisting to look back at Eleanor. Eleanor came closer to Rose, shuffling her feet.

"Rose, I just... I want to apologize- woman to woman- for what I did," Eleanor said quietly, glancing around at any passerby's. "I'm obviously just not in the right time in life. I'm stressed out about everything, my family life is going down the drain... I let it get to my head and I acted on impulses I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, Rose."

Rose adjusted the vase in her arms, pursing her lips. "You know, Jack gave you a chance. No, actually, he gave you a golden opportunity, Eleanor, to work for one of the greatest companies in Miles City, for one of the greatest bosses in the entire world," Rose replied in a hushed tone. "He gave you a steady job, consistent hours, promised pay. He gave you a chance to save your family from falling out of this wonderful community and you threw it away, like it counted for nothing. Like it was _garbage_."

Eleanor flinched at the words, as if they had hurt her physically. "But that's not what I thought," Eleanor shook her head. "That's not the kind of person I want to be thought of as, Rose. I was so grateful for everything he did for me. He was more than a boss, he was somebody I could trust and talk to."

"Yes," Rose said, rather sharply. "And you took advantage of that, Eleanor."

"I didn't mean to, Rose. I just... I guess I just got caught up with what was happening in my mind," Eleanor shook her head. "You're right, though. It was a great company and he was a fantastic boss in so many ways. I'm truly sorry for crossing boundaries. I'm used to meeting men who were... familiar with an arranged affair..."

"Well, I'll tell you now those are certainly not the kind of men you want to associate with," Rose replied, balancing the vase on her hip. "Jack is not anything like those men."

"I know he's not," Eleanor said. "He's a devoted father. He's charismatic. He's a leader. People just look to him, always, even if they don't know him. He's a really great man, Rose."

"I must be going," Rose replied passively, glancing over her shoulder at the clock by the fountain. "It's nearly lunch time, anyway. Don't you have an account to close?"

Eleanor looked disappointed in her fruitless attempt to talk to Rose. The validation, the asauging of her guilt, was left untouched and Eleanor felt despairingly lonely and lost in that moment. Rose turned, leaving the situation promptly, the lillies in her vase bouncing with each of her steps. Eleanor pursed her lips, watching the red headed woman leave the plaza, heading back towards their neighborhood. She looked at the plaza clock and cursed under her breath, dashing across the plaza the other direction and frightening a flock of pidgeons into flight.

...

Jack finished signing his name across a document to accept it to the final round of the August magazine. He sighed, tilting back in his chair and stretching his back. He glanced towards his open door, watching two journalists argue over the definition of a word. It was a hot day. Conflict was bound to arise when taking into consideration all the pending deadlines. Jack raked his hair from his face, reaching for his next article waiting for approval.

"Another sailboat article? I had six in the June edition, three in July. We don't need more than two in August," Jack scoffed, shaking his head. He promptly threw it into the rejection pile. "Jesus, you'd think none of our journalists even _read _the damn magazine..."

Jack was no stranger to agitation in his job. He felt like there was a high standard to keep up, especially in the memory of Wally who raised the business from the ground up in years of tireless efforts. Jack felt confident the quality of the magazine had not dipped and he still felt that he captured the original energy the magazine had to offer to set it apart from those on the rack. But the price to keep that confidence going was strict hawk eyes, endless meddling, and sometimes, rampant frustration.

A curt knock on his open door drew him away from an article discussing an interesting beetle native to the Yellowstone grounds. When he looked up, he saw Williamson leaning against the threshold with his hands jammed in his pockets. "Lunch time. Can I pick you anythin' up? A sandwich, maybe?"

"Oh, uh," Jack looked at the clock on his wall not realizing it was already a quarter to noon. "No, that's alright, thanks. I think I'm gonna step out of the office for a bit, too." Jack pushed his chair away from his desk and reached for his coat. As he left the office, he glanced over the work space. Several of the journalists and photographers were off in search of their own lunch. Jack was glad to see so few working through their break.

Jack stepped outside beneath the overhead sun and began on his way. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, loosely tucking it between his lips and using his lighter to get it burning. He walked casually, not in any particular rush. He wasn't going far anyway. He exhaled a plume of smoke, turning the corner down the road. He passed by a park, listening to the children scream ferociously, chasing their summer days away. The building he was looking for was coming up ahead, near the plaza that always had husbands waiting on shopping wives in it. Jack stuck his cigarette in his mouth, appearing in the opening of a garage that was prompt open for sunlight and a faint breeze. Several men in dirty and oily coveralls glanced to Jack from where they were wrenching on cars.

Jack lowered his cigarette from his mouth. "I'm lookin' for a Matthew Freedman."

The man nearest to Jack craned his neck. "Saw him in the metal work room not too long ago. Straight ahead, first door on your left."

"Thanks," Jack took a final puff from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and continuing through the shop. He went to the first door on the left and peaked his head into a decent sized room filled with all kinds of large clunky tools and machines. He spotted Matthew with his back to him, turning a piece of iron in his hand. "Matthew?" Jack came completely into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Matthew looked over his shoulder, pausing from his task. He was surprised to see Jack and quickly set his work down, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe his greasy hands. "Jack, hello." He came to meet Jack in the center of the room. "What can I do for you? Got a car in trouble?"

"Oh, no, I don't own a car," Jack shook his head. "This town is still pretty walkable."

Matthew smiled. "Yeah, I agree with that. You don't need one here. It's not like California." Matthew slung his towel over his shoulder. "So, what's the reason for the visit? Seems like a crappy way to spend your lunch break."

Jack laughed. "Well, actually, I was wondering if my family could meet with yours tonight? At your house or our house, your call. I just... felt like we needed to talk."

"Is this about Charlie and Lawrence?" Matthew asked, cocking his bold brows up.

"I told Sheila the same thing that everything would make sense in due time. Give me time to make it clear," Jack told him. "We'll make dinner. Just tell us where it's best to meet. I want our families to sit down and share a meal tonight. I want us to understand we're not so different from each other after all."

Matthew thought it to be a rather bold but grandly nice gesture. He couldn't remember the last time a friendly neighborhood family wanted to have any kind of meal with the Freedman's. He shifted the weight between his dirty work boots. "Well... why don't you and yours come over to our place for dinner? Say, oh, six o'clock? It will be a relief for Sheila that she doesn't have to cook."

"Well, alright, then," Jack nodded. "I'll see you at six o'clock."

...

The phone was already ringing when Rose entered the door and she cursed to herself, hanging her purse on the coat rack. The ringing was interrupted as Rose shrugged out of her shawl, hanging it up as well. She headed to the living room where Charlie had the phone pressed to his ear. Max sat on the ground with some model trains.

"... alright. Well, Mom just walked in," Charlie said. He paused and waited again. "Yeah, uh-huh. Love you, too." Charlie held the phone out towards Rose. "It's Dad."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Rose took the phone in her hand, pressing it to her collarbone. "Would you and Max mind heading up to your room or maybe to the backyard so I can speak with your father in private?" Charlie complied and she listened to the boys boots clunk into the wooden staircase as they raced each other up. Rose grinned, pressing the phone to her ear. "Hey," She crossed her arm beneath her elbow, swaying back and forth.

"Dinner at the Freedman's at six o'clock. Dinner's on us," Came Jack's voice from the other end.

"Oh, really? That quickly?" Rose cocked the phone between her head and shoulder, glancing towards the clock. It was nearly half past twelve. "Alright, I'll make a casserole."

"King Ranch Chicken?" Jack asked and she could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"What do you think?" Rose deadpanned, grinning all the while.


	45. Dinner with the Freedman's

Chapter Forty-Five

_July 17th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

Jack looked to his face in the mirror hanging on the wall in the front foyer of his house. Gingerly, he groomed and frisked his hair to the side, away from his face. He adjusted the coat over his white button up, pulling at his cuffs beneath. He then looked over his shoulder towards Rose, who was knelt down, fixing the black tie around Charlie's neck.

"Do I have to wear this thing?" Charlie griped, looking dismayed. "I hate ties. They're so annoying, not to mention so lame looking. Mom, I look queer in this outfit."

Rose sighed, fluffing the collar of his shirt and making sure it was evenly tucked in. They had to opt for the short sleeved button-up because nothing fit around his cast. "No you don't. You look nice, Charlie. We're trying to make a good impression." Rose herself had swept her hair back, held in place by pins that glinted like real diamonds. She was wearing a pale ivory dress with intricate beading handstitched along the torso and dangling earrings that almost resembled glittery confetti. She raked Charlie's hair back from his face and licked her finger, wiping it along his cheek, which he squirmed and pulled away from. Pleased with Charlie's overall appearance, she stood up and reached for her warm casserole sitting on the dining room table. "Tina?" Rose called up the stairs, approaching the base. Her cream colored pumps echoed in the entryway foyer. "Are you ready to go, sweetheart?"

There were a few beats of silence before the creak of Valentina's bedroom door could be heard. Slowly, her steps came closer and closer to the stairs before she appeared on the platform in front of her family. She looked wonderful. She was wearing a long sleeve green velvet dress with small gold flowers embroidered along the cuffs and neckline. In her french braids, two matching green bows were fixed in her hair. Despite being dressed to have a grand party, Valentina's face looked rather grim. Rose couldn't help but see her own reflection in that of Valentina. She came down the stairs, one at a time, biding herself just a few more seconds from the anxiety-ridden events that awaited her that evening.

Valentina came to stand in front of her mother, who smiled gently. She reached out, giving Valentina's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You look very nice, sweetheart." Valentina cast a glance over her dress for a moment before sheepishly looking back at Rose.

"I hope it's enough to cover up all the negro for Mrs. Freedman," Valentina said plainly, brushing past her mother and opening the front door, stepping out onto the porch. Rose pursed her lips and looked to Jack, who seemed surprised by his daughter's remark.

"Well," Jack said, rather lamely. He swept his coat back as he put his hands on his hips, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Lets get a move on. It's a quarter to six and we don't want the casserole to get cold." Together, Jack and Rose ushered Charlie from the house and the family set off on foot for the Freedman's home. Jack glanced over his children who walked between him and Rose. Both of their eyes were trained forward at the unfurling path. Jack licked his lips, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they walked in the cool evening sun. "Let's be optimistic about tonight. This is really important."

"I would use the word dreadful instead," Valentina replied, her eyes still trained forward.

"Tina, I thought you wanted to do this," Jack glanced towards his daughter. "You know your mother and I would never make you do something you're uncomfortable with."

"I do want to do this," Valentina said, looking at her father now as they turned off their street. "To remind myself to always be better than what I come from."

"Honey, just give them a chance," Rose gripped the dish in her hand tightly. "They might just surprise you."

"Please," Valentina looked between both her parents now. "I don't want to get my hopes too high. If they're surprisingly wonderful, then great. But I don't want to go there expecting this grand turn out of events only to be met with disappointment."

Jack and Rose exchanged a look that was a mix of concern and exasperation. They knew the young girl was processing many things and probably feeling all kinds of emotions that didn't make sense. They had a right to be worried about her crude, almost blunt, look on the current situation. The family continued in silence. Charlie looked at his sister. He could see every muscle in her face was tense. Her eyes darted about as she clung to anything around her to distact her. After a moment, Charlie reached out, grabbing hold of her hand. She looked to him, rather surprised.

"You could single handedly destroy the Diamond Boys," Charlie whispered. "For me, Tina."

Tina pursed her lips for a moment, glancing to her brother's comforting hand encasing her's. "Whenever I think about this whole situation... Charlie, I just feel guilty. Like I'm partly responsible for what happened to you. And I'm worried... if Lawrence is capable of that... does that mean I am, too?"

Charlie scoffed, nearly rolling his eyes. "Hell no. You're nothin' like Lawrence, Tina. You got a brain two times the size of his."

Valentina grinned weakly, giving Charlie's hand a squeeze. "Thanks, Charlie. I know that no matter what happens tonight, you got my back."

"You know," Charlie grinned mischeviously. "This cast is pretty heavy. I bet I could make someone's nose bleed if I swung it hard enough."

Valentina snorted quietly at her brother's absurdity. "Please don't. You'll take yourself off your feet if you do that." Together, the siblings laughed, despite the doom of the Freedman's house approaching into view.

...

Despite the Freedman's having moved to Miles City nearly three months ago, it didn't look like they had been there for more than two weeks. The essentials were unpacked. Towels, clothes, cups, plates, silverware, and the likes. A few of the shelves had decorations adorning them, but the walls were bare, and several boxes were stacked up in every room, anxiously left unpacked. The house was clean, however, and Rose always found that to be a good judge of somebody. Each member of the Dawson family was nervous in their own way.

Matthew and Sheila greeted the family together in the front foyer. They had dressed nicely as well. Matthew nudged his wife with his elbow, clearing his throat. Shelia clasped her hands together, entering into her mode of hospitality, though her smile didn't feel genuine to any of the guests.

"Welcome and thank you very much for bringing supper," Shelia reached out taking the dish from Rose. "What is it exactly?"

"A King Ranch Chicken," Rose said. "It's always a big hit at the block parties and such."

"Ah, well thank you kindly," Shelia replied, her Texan accent ringing out. She glanced towards Matthew and pursed her lips for a moment. "My husband and I may have an assumption or two about why you're here..." She glanced over the silent Charlie. "We must thank you for being courteous; keeping things out of public. We were just startin' to get comfortable here."

Valentina stared intently at Sheila, still not completely accepting that this woman standing in front of her was her own mother's sister. It sounded ridiculous. She found herself still reeling over the idea, incredulous to the fact. Suddenly, she felt her father's warm hand gingerly curl around her shoulder and her body untensed. She had no idea she had even been so scrunched up beneath her own skin.

"Well," Matthew shrugged his shoulders. "Let us show you to the kitchen table so you can meet our boys formally." Matthew led the way for the group, through the living room, to the kitchen. The kitchen was much more narrow than the Dawson's and lacked a kitchen island. But the large table the family had was situated right before a large bay window that overlooked their backyard. The sherberts of the evening sun melted through the large window. Rose thought it was a complimentary feature of the room.

Sitting at the kitchen table were four boys who did not look much different in appearance. Two were blond, two were brunette. Shelia grinned as she looked over her herd of children. She came to stand behind the chair at the head of the table, gesturing to the nearest boy. He had shaggy sandy blond hair and looked to be the oldest. "This is Jeremy." She then pointed to a brunette boy. "That is Quentin." Then to another blond boy. "Yancy. And on the end, of course, you know, Lawrence."

Rose put on the best fake maternal smile she could, putting her hands on Charlie's shoulders in hopes of calming him. "Well, it's really nice to meet all of you boys officially. My name is Rose. This is my son, Charlie, of course."

Matthew looked pointedly to Shelia. She gave him a hard gaze at first before hunching her shoulders for a moment. "Rose, before we sit down to eat, I feel like I must apologize for my actions when we first met. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I used a word I must come to terms with realizing it's not right to just be spittin' out like that. Where I'm from, it was so normal. But... I gotta remember I'm not there anymore. So, please, let me formally ask her..." Shelia turned towards Rose's daughter, gazing at her hesitantly. "What's your name, child?"

The young girl was quiet for some time. She wasn't quite sure what she expected. She didn't know what would happen once she said it all outloud. Standing before her was a woman who had the same blood as her. A woman who had once before been in the same room as her at one point in time. Her parents had always said it was a small world. Now she truly believed them. She glanced fleetingly towards her parents before she licked her lips, meeting Shelia's gaze. "My name is Valentina."

The room fell into a stunned silence. It was obvious the oldest two boys at the table recognized the name, tensing up, as if it were a word spoken by lunatics. Matthew put his hands on his hips, looking towards Valentina in bewilderment. Shelia's hands visibly shook.

"Is this... a sick joke?" Shelia asked harshly and sharply, directing her eyes towards Rose and Jack. "Are you diggin' into our past lives, tryin' to find ways to get even with us? To make us atone for Lawrence's actions!?"

"Wait, Shelia, no-" Jack held his hands up.

"What the _hell _is going on?!" Shelia roared. She looked towards her husband, jabbing a harsh finger at him. "Did you know anything about this?!"

"No, nothing," Matthew shook his head furiously. "Jack just said he wanted our families to talk. I... I figured this was about Charlie and Lawrence."

"And I told you both I would make this clear to you!" Jack looked between Matthew and Shelia with arched eyebrows. "Yes, this is our daughter, Valentina. And _yes_. She's exactly who you think she is. Matthew told me a little bit about all of you. And when he did, I learned we had much more in common than what we thought." Jack wrapped his arms around Valentina standing in front him, drawing her against him. "Rose and I were in Havana in 1912... during a very violent raid."

"The McArthur's," Shelia shook her head. "I curse the fuckin' name."

"Charlotte asked us to take her," Rose said, coming to stand beside Valentina, taking hold of her hand. "And so we did. And we've raised her as our own this entire time. Shelia, we had no idea we were taking her away from family. We thought Charlotte was all she had."

"All these years..." Shelia seemed rather dazed, lowering her eyes to rest on the young Valentina, who was draped in the supportive hands of her parents. "Charlotte never said a word, I... I just assumed the worst. Babies were not immune to the reality of what happened once the sun set on Havana..." Shelia came closer, slowly kneeling down in front of the young girl. "It's really you..." Shelia whispered. "I'd recognize those eyes anywhere."

Matthew watched his wife for a beat and then looked to Jack. "Why didn't you say anything at the time, Jack?"

"Because," Jack shrugged. "It wasn't the right time. But now, it is."

Shelia's eyes had grown misty as she reached out and tenderly ran her hands along the plaits of Valentina's braids. She touched her round cheeks, her wiry shoulders. Her slender fingers ran along her neck. Valentina allowed her to touch her. She didn't recoil, she didn't try to pull away. Valentina watched Shelia's eyes, seeing how full of remorse and regret they were. But beneath the tears welling up, Valentina could detect a hint of nostalgia... possibly relief. Finally, Shelia lowered her hands to her knees, her face only hovering inches from Valentina's. After a moment, a weak smile spread across her lips.

Shelia sniffled, laughing lightly. "You probably don't remember me at all, huh?" Valentina simply shook her head no. "You were just a tiny baby the last time I had seen you. It wasn't long before that, we had celebrated your first birthday. You know, I was there when you were born. I helped deliver you."

"Why don't we all sit down?" Matthew suggested. "We can talk more about it over the casserole Rose brought. Wouldn't want it gettin' cold, now."

Shelia rubbed the tears from eyes quickly, standing up. "You're right, you're right. Please, everyone, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Valentina, darling... would you sit right here, next to me, please?"

Valentina glanced towards Jack, who gave her an encouraging nod, nudging her on the shoulder. The young girl stepped forward and climbed into the seat beside the head of the table where Shelia would sit, right across from Lawrence. The boy had been quiet. His face seemed to be permanently embedded with a scowl. Jack sat beside Valentina with Charlie next and then Rose. Shelia took her time serving everyone a large hunking slice of casserole. To everyone's relief, steam rose from it when Shelia cut into it. The sound of cutlery began to arise in the kitchen as the two families ate together.

"Mm, Rose, this is delicious," Matthew said, after washing his first bite down with a glass of water. "You gotta give Shelia the recipe."

"Oh, it's really quite easy," Rose shook her head modestly, gingerly cutting a small piece off for herself to eat. "I'm sure Sheila won't even need a recipe."

Silence fell over the table again. Every time Shelia looked up from her plate, she found her eyes drifting towards Valentina. She watched the young girl with keen interest. She was the spitting image of her dear old sister. There wasn't a trace of her father to be found. It proved to Shelia his blood was inferior. That of the Lawson's was liquid gold, in her opinion. Shelia still found herself in utter disbelief she had found Valentina after ten years. She remembered the day vividly when Charlotte had resurfaced from that violence with no baby to be found. It had been July 19th, 1912. Almost exactly ten years since she had last seen Valentina.

Shelia cleared her throat, looking over her guests. "Now, I know y'all know a little bit about our family. We would like to know more about the Dawson's. Where do your roots come from?"

"Well," Jack spoke up first, not wanting another awkward loll in conversation. "I'm from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Born and raised. I've been an artist for most of my life. Did still-life charcoal drawings before I got into photography and the magazine business."

"So, you've done a little bit of everything," Shelia nodded, taking a sip of water. "And you, Rose?"

"Oh, I'm from Philadelphia," Rose told her, looking at Shelia first, then Matthew. "My life has been relatively ordinary."

"Rose is just being modest," Jack waved his hand dismissively. "Rose is a journalist for the _Miles City Tribune _and has published six fictional novels. She's spectacular." Rose's cheeks warmed up.

"So... an artist and a journalist," Shelia grinned. "Y'all meet at university?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Rose shook her head. "Neither of us went to university."

"And Miss Valentina," Shelia looked to the young girl, who paused from cutting up a portion of her casserole. Valentina's brown eyes met Shelia's curious blue ones. "What do you like to do in your spare time? You know, your mother was a talented embroiderer."

"I write like my Momma," Valentina told her. "And I play the trumpet."

"What a coincidence," Shelia grinned and looked towards her youngest son, who was already hunching over in his seat, aware of where the conversation was going. "My boy Lawrence here can play the cello rather fierce."

"_You _play the cello?" Charlie arched his eyebrows. He smothered any laughs deep to the pits of his belly.

"Why didn't you audition for the Miles City Junior Orchestra?" Valentina asked. "They're always so desperate for cello players."

"I hate that instrument," Lawrence muttered, pushing bits of casserole around on his plate. "I wish you didn't make me play that big clunky thing."

"Oh, hush," Shelia said, her eyes trained down on her meal. "Music is good for you. Look what it's done for your little cousin, now. She's as smart as a whip."

"So, what, you expect us to just accept we got family again? So suddenly like this?" Lawrence pushed his dish away, crossing his arms over his chest. "You said you never wanted to think or talk about Havana ever again and now look what we're doin'! Having a nostalgic meal over it. I don't wanna think about Havana. And neither should you. It's gone, Mom. Let go!" Lawrence sprung to his feet and slammed his chair into the table, making all the plates jump. He then stormed out of the room.

There was silence, followed by the slamming of Lawrence's bedroom door. Shelia and Matthew paused from eating, staring tensely at each other. Shelia sighed, laying her fork down. "You'll have to excuse him. He's our most... emotional boy. I just think he's embarrassed and overwhelmed."

"Nah, Mom," The third born, Yancy, said through a mouthful. "You're makin' him look normal in front of his punching bag." He used his dirty fork to point towards Charlie. Yancy laughed. "My little brother likes to act like he's the baddest out of any of us. He's not. You shouldn't be scared of him, kid. I'm sure as hell not."

Shelia watched the young boy with the clunky cast for a moment and folded her hands together. "What reparations can we make for what our boy did to yours?"

"We're not looking for reparations," Jack told her, shaking his head.

"Yes, we just want to make sure Charlie is safe, that's all. We certainly don't want any trouble between the boys," Rose chimed in.

"Lawrence plays his mean games 'cause he's always gotten away with 'em," Yancy told the family despite his father's glares to stop running his jaw. "You probably know we move a lot. Lawrence banks on the idea of being annonymous. The less you know about him, the more you're scared of 'im."

"Yeah, are you gonna let yourself be scared of a boy who plays the _cello_?" Quentin joined in now.

"Boys, enough," Shelia said, eyeing both of them.

"Jus' tellin' him the truth, Mom," Yancy shrugged, shoveling more casserole into his mouth. "If you want us to stay here for good, then I say we give Charlie all the tricks we got. I mean, don't you think Lawrence has gone too far at this point? He's hurt _family _now."

"Yancy's right," Matthew straightened up. "Miles City is callin' for us, Shelia. There's a reason we moved here. And now, we have a reason to stay." He gestured to the young Valentina sitting beside Shelia. "How many nights did you stay up wonderin' about that little girl? Hoping she was alive and well. That somebody loved her. You've got your answers now. We don't have to move again, Shelia. We can stay here and still have a link to who we once were." Shelia was quiet. It's not that she couldn't accept it, she simply couldn't believe it.

"C'mon, Mom," Yancy held his hands up now. "If we decide this is where we stay, then we can finally unpack your spoon collection again. When's the last time you got to show anyone your Washington State spoon? You were so happy with it when you got it."

Shelia smiled weakly at her son's urge. She looked at each member of the Dawson family, but her eyes lingered the longest on Valentina. She sighed, reaching out and resting her hand over Valentina's. She ran her hand along the girl's smooth skin as if she had known her for a lifetime. Her skin felt so familiar, reminding her of so much she had lost.

"Valentina, dear," Shelia said, her voice rather strained. Her eyes became misty again. "I know you have your own... personal thoughts about my family. I'm sure even some resentment for what we've done to your family. None of us have been perfect. Especially not me. It's been a rough ten years for all of us. But dear, I'm so glad it wasn't for you," Shelia paused, dabbing her napkin to her nose. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I want to give you a choice, honey. Would you like for me and my family to be in your life? I know you don't remember where you came from, but sweetheart, we _loved _you deeply. We wanted to protect you."

Valentina lowered her eyes for a moment, looking at Shelia's hand. "I want to ask you a question first," She said, looking directly at the woman who was apparently her aunt.

"Anything," Shelia nodded.

"When Havana burned to the ground... why did my mother die? Why did you live?" Valentina asked. "In her letters, my mother had always expressed the greatest interest in coming to Montana to be reunited with me. Why didn't your family let her leave? If you loved her... why didn't you want what was best for her?"

A silence overcame the table and Rose grew concerned for a moment that her curious daughter had perhaps been too forward. She was picking at a scab that may have caused Shelia to greatly suffer. The matriarch of the Freedman's did not flinch, however, as if she had been waiting her entire life to be asked that very question. Her eyes remained wet as she recalled that dreary day. It was easily the worst day of her life.

"Honey, our daddy was much different than the daddy you have right now," Shelia told her after she took her time to sort her thoughts. "He was a powerful man and what he said went. He was particular about what he wanted for his children. He had a hold on all of our lives and if he believed we were making a stupid decision, he would decide that for himself and act accordingly. Your mother and I... we weren't always happy," Shelia said slowly, recounting those old times together of being a young girl in Texas. "We all had hopes and dreams but we all found ourselves indebted to the Lawson name. Thinkin' about it now... it was no way to live. When everything fell apart, your mother was scared to leave. There was as much danger in the unknown in that wagon with us as there was stayin' and holdin' your ground. She... had been shot. She was bleeding heavily. She wouldn't have even survived a wagon ride to Waco a short ways up the road."

Valentina was quiet as she absorbed Shelia's words. In her mind, she tried to imagine what that day may have been like. She wished she had been old enough at the time to have an impact. All she could see was the horrifying image of Shelia finding a profusely bleeding Charlotte and having to leave her behind. Valentina finally nodded. "If you can tell me more about what I don't know... I'd like for you to be in my life. As long as you promise nothing more will happen to my brother."

Shelia smiled with her wet eyes. "Sweetheart, we're family now. No one gets hurt anymore. That's not what a real family does to each other."

...

The cicadas were chirping in their lively fashion when the Dawson's finally departed from their rather emotional dinner with the Freedman's. Charlie and Valentina walked ahead while Rose and Jack lingered beneath the lemony glare of the front porch light where moths flittered overhead. Shelia watched young Valentina disappear into the shadows with her brother before she turned her attention to Jack and Rose.

"I can't thank y'all enough," Shelia told them, doing her best to contain another wave of tears. "Tonight has been a truly eye opening experience as to what I've allowed the ruminations of Havana to do to me. I called y'all negro lovers as if I had never been one. Like it was wrong to be one. If y'all weren't so open minded, who knows what would have actually happened to my precious niece."

"I'm just glad things went relatively well," Rose nodded. "We had our concerns about telling Tina the truth for so long. It's an emotional story, but she's got a good head on her shoulders."

"Y'all have done a great job with her," Shelia said, her eyes growing damp again. She cursed under her breath, trying to wipe her tears away. "She's thrivin' with y'all. Moreso than I think she ever would have in Charlotte's care."

"We're gonna have a stern talkin' to with Lawrence," Matthew said, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He glanced fleetingly towards the sky that was littered in glittering stars. "He'll come around. We'll make him accept things for the way they are now."

Shelia stepped forward, grabbing hold of both Jack and Rose's hands. "Your family has saved mine. Yancy's right. We shouldn't be afraid to unpack all of our things. We shouldn't be so scared of changes inside of ourselves. We're so used to the environment changin' and it's always the same ol' story: we're the black sheep. The change has to come from us if we want things to get better. And we might have a fightin' chance knowing that not all of life was extinguished that day in Havana."

"To new beginnings," Matthew grinned warmly.

"Yes," Shelia nodded, still looking between the Dawson couple. "New beginnings."


	46. A Special Place in Time

Chapter Forty-Six

_August 12th, 1922_  
_Miles City, Montana_

And just like that, summer was coming to a close. Valentina was eager to return to school, to get involved in the school music scene again, and take new challenging classes. Charlie wasn't very excited, but he figured it would be a better use of his days rather than laying around and looking at the sunset on his cast. It wouldn't be long before they would saw it off. As each day passed, and the removal of the cast grew nearer, Charlie appeared with newspaper ads of shiny new bicycles every day to present to his parents.

It had been an eventful summer for the Dawson's, one they were sure they would never forget. From the scariest situations to the most absurd, like being kissed by a receptionist, the family had met their match. Jack and Rose assumed it was the curse of the _Titanic _that would continually return to test the family. The matriarch and the patriarch were not phased, however. The family's foundation was strong, maybe even more powerful than the _Titanic _had once been boasted as being.

The Freedman's had stayed true to their word. Lawrence's time of mischief was coming to an end. Shelia and Matthew were determined to finally pass on to their son's the golden qualities of being apart of a tight knit community. They were eager to model for their son's that even with one home gone, they could still make the best of another. Once Eleanor and Ivan had moved away at the end of July, the Diamond Boys had more or less fallen apart with Lawrence under stricter watch and Ivan no longer being around to pretend to be the leader. For Charlie, it was a breath of relief. It meant the school yard wouldn't be chaotic and he and Max could bring their toys to school without worry of them being destroyed. It also meant his next bike had more of a fighting chance.

Valentina had grown closer to the Freedman's, though her parents could still tell she treated the relationship with caution. On many weekends, Valentina would find herself at the Freedman's house with an empty journal, asking Shelia to tell her about her mother's childhood in Texas. She took long extravagant notes, trying almost to transpose Shelia's words entirely to the page. To Valentina's surprise, she discovered Charlotte's childhood wasn't so much different from her own's when she was much younger. Since Charlotte had Lawson blood in her, she was treated as one of the children. She wasn't forced into heavy duty chores. She had been allowed to play with dolls. She ate meals at the table with the family. But she had been left uneducated. Once she had become a teenager, the divide had slowly grown bigger and bigger. She soon had become more like the help, though she had been favored and given her own bedroom and private bath.

An entire page in Valentina's journal was dedicated to the small bit of information Shelia had about her real father. His name was Arthur Beville. He had once belonged to the McArthur family in Waco, hence his name, but had been traded to the Lawson's on the account that he was slow in the field and would do better in housework. But Charlotte had taken a liking to him and only half a year later, it was discovered that she was expecting. But Charlotte's father was unhappy about this. He had the final say in every man who wooed his daughter and impregnated her. His father wanted an absolute blood line at his own discretion. Mr. Lawson allowed Arthur to remain with Charlotte through the pregnancy and birth. He was the one who had thought of the name for his new daughter. And only two weeks later, Mr. Lawson sent him on a false errand late at night to the apothecary for ointment. Violence broke out and the gates were sealed shut. Charlotte, holding baby Valentina, watched helplessly through the gates as her love was killed. Her father only watched from behind.

Valentina was grateful in many ways that Shelia didn't water the story down. She felt she was old enough to handle the rather graphic details. Things like this still happened, she thought to herself. She felt she was responsible to realize that. For Shelia, it was a treat when Valentina came over. Her son's and husband noticed an obvious lift in her mood. Every Saturday morning, the smell of cookies and brownies filled the house. But each boy's hand was slapped away. "Those brownies are for Valentina!" For the Texan woman, it was like getting to revisit with her sister again. Valentina was the epitome of Charlotte in her youth, with her matching bows and french braided hair. When Shelia sat with Valentina, sipped her lemonade, ate her brownie, laughed, and felt the warm summer air waft through the room, she couldn't help but feel like she had stepped backward in time. It reminded Shelia of the times her and Charlotte would sit in the sun room, pretending to be adults and mocking how stuffy rich people would act at a tea party.

That Saturday was no different for Valentina as she walked along the sidewalk towards the Freedman residence. Tucked under her arm was her journal, which was nearly packed full of the notes of her origins, Havana as a whole, and even the Lawson family. On the very back page, Valentina had begun to construct a family tree. However, some names were written and she couldn't decide which way the arrow would need to go. She knocked curtly on the door. While Valentina waited, she withdrew her journal, slowly sifting through her meticulous and well-written notes. The door flew open, however, it wasn't Shelia. It was Yancy.

"Oh, hey, Tina," Yancy said. "My mom just stepped out real quick. Needed to grab somethin' for dinner. She said you'd be here around noon." He stepped aside to allow Valentina to enter. Yancy closed the door behind him as he went back to the living room, seating himself beside the shelf with the radio.

The Freedman's had officially moved in now. Paintings and tapestries covered the walls. Shelves were full of figurines, souveniers, and old family pictures. It felt like a home. And at last, the family felt like they could breath and plant their roots. Valentina watched as Yancy leaned in closer to the radio, listening to a broadcast. After a few moments, she realized it was baseball. She set her journal on the kitchen table and looked out into the backyard. Jeremy and Quentin were sitting on the back porch, each having a cigarette. Valentina was just beginning to wonder about the fourth brother when a noise caught her attention. Slowly, she craned her neck to gaze down the long corridor with many doors.

Carefully, Valentina inched down the hallway, being sure her flats didn't clack against the wood floors. When she came upon the first door on the left, she paused, putting her ear to it. Just on the other side was fluid and beautiful music. She knew it was coming from strings. Valentina grinned and pushed the door open. The music stopped abruptly, hitching in pitch as the musician lifted the bow. Lawrence looked over his shoulder sheepishly. His face made him seem to think he had been caught red handed. Valentina laughed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I thought you said your mom made you practice?" Valentina asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

"She does," Lawrence insisted, propping the cello up against the wall. He lowered the bow to his side. "And she know when I don't practice."

"You're gonna join the school's ensemble, right?" Valentina came into his room now. Glancing around, it was very cluttered with several vinyls spread out across the floor. She recognized a few of the jazz ones. She owned some, too. "Sign up's are on Monday in the school yard, nine o'clock."

"No... I don't think I am," Lawrence shook his head. "I wouldn't fit in with y'all."

"Why not?" Valentina shrugged. "You're telling a black kid you're worried about fitting in?"

"I won't be good enough."

"Ensemble isn't about being good enough," Valentina said. "It's about becoming better. You get time at school set aside to practice. That sounds like a win to me if you're tryin' to meet your mom's quota."

Lawrence furrowed his brow. "Mom was right. You _are _smart."

"Just stick with your cousin at school, you'll be fine," Valentina grinned, putting her hands behind her back.

"So, Monday morning in the school yard, right?" Lawrence asked. Valentina nodded in confirmation. She was turning to leave when he spoke again. "Hey, Tina?" She paused and looked over her shoulder with arched eyebrows. "I got your's and Charlie's backs at school, too, alright? To make up for what I did to Charlie, I'll be his bodyguard for an infinite amount of time. Nobody will ever mess with him again."

Valentina laughed, shaking her head. "Nobody ever messed with him before, though, Lawrence. Charlie was the King of the Playground, the King of the Ice Cream Parlor; the King of Outdoors, really. His grades kind of suck, but he's a social butterfly. People just like him."

"I liked him when I first met him. I really did," Lawrence told her.

Valentina grinned. "I know."

The front door opened and the afternoon sunlight shed down the hallway. After a moment, it slammed shut and Shelia announced her presence. "I'll let you get back to practicing," Valentina told him. "Keep up the good work."

...

For Jack, work had been steady as usual. Rose help a temporary position as his receptionist and they always quietly chuckled when they stole kisses in the hallway, in the closets, and in his office. But finally, someone official came to work with them: Jeremy Freedman. He had taken typing classes in school and was proficient in document transfers and copying. He learned fast and Jack was glad to give him the work. In a way, Jack liked to think he was turning it into a "family" business. Though he had no direct relation to the Freedman's himself, Jack felt personally connected to them. Anyone who adored his daughter as much as him were already his favorite kinds of people.

Though Rose had been home for weeks, she still relished every day in the fact that she loved her family, her home, her town, and her state. The mountains surrounding the beautiful young woman gave her the confidence and strength she needed to lead her household. Waking up beside Jack every morning was like a wish upon a star coming true over and over again. Watching her children overcome a rather difficult and busy summer filled her with pride. It was like watching the Monarch butterflies migrate south. They had become new people with new insights and new ways of thinking. Rose marvelled at her children, knowing they were on the right path to do something great for the world.

Jack and Rose just knew Valentina was destined to lead a revolution or become a diplomat when one day after school, she showed up with Lawrence in tow, who was dragging his large cello case. Together the two practiced in the library for hours and then the boy sat down to eat with the family. In the matter of twelve weeks, so much had changed so rapidly. It reminded Jack and Rose to never take for granted the times they got with people, as they never knew when it would be the last. For Rose, those thoughts had been at the forefront of her mind when she received the call from Albertson. July 25th. Ruth had taken her last breath. Her ashes had appeared in the postage not too long after in an elaborate urn Madeleine had chosen. Rose had tucked it onto a shelf in her writing room. She rarely had it in her to look at it.

Charlie and Max's friendship had become solid and soon, they were attached at the hip with sleepovers every weekend. Maggie and Rose would find themselves chasing those boys all day, telling them play time was over, it was time for homework and a bath. Charlie had continued to go to the engineering club at the library. The sponsors had reported to Jack and Rose that Charlie was actively engaged, asking questions, and testing limits. His parents couldn't have been more thrilled. The boys together were taking a harder level science class together that year at school. They were determined to build some kind of whacky machine with their knowledge by the next summer. Jack and Rose were so relieved Charlie had found a deep fascination in science. They didn't even mind finding alarm clocks taken apart all over the floor or finding Charlie shining a flashlight into Rose's typewriter to understand what made it work.

With the turbulent summer over and the days slowly cooling down, the family returned to comfortably living their lives without great interruption. The neighborhood and Miles City as a whole was at peace. Charlie and Valentina were happy. Jack and Rose were still madly in love. And the family still had a bright future to look forward to. Together.

_The End_

_Author's Notes: Wow! I can't believe I finally finished this. I originally only planned for this to maybe be a 30 chapter fic, but it got away from me again! Thank you for all the reviews, both positive and constructive. I'm so glad I was finally able to complete the timeline for my Lacy and Stained series. Happy Reading!_


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